


Quiet Things

by LyingMonsters



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: AU, Differently-Aged Character(s), First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, L/Light-centric, M/M, Secrets, Slow Burn, lawlight, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 45,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyingMonsters/pseuds/LyingMonsters
Summary: Light meets L in the store nobody else goes to. L grabs his hand and pulls him into his world, step by step, meeting after meeting, his eyes the darkest gray Light has ever seen.





	1. Chapter One

Light is not supposed to be in the Quik-E Mart near the cafe and the park. He's supposed to be at a regular, respectable department store.

But the Quik-E Mart with the bad fluorescent lighting has a pharmaceutical department and is somewhere nobody who knows him will be. And for what he's there for, he doesn't want being known.

Light walks up to the counter and slides the prescription across to the doctor along with his identification. The surly-looking, middle-aged man doesn't seem like he particularly wants to be helping him, and Light resists the urge to say that he doesn't want to be there, either.

After what seems like an unnecessarily long time examining both forms, the doctor stomps to the back, pulls out two small cartons none too gently, and drops them on the counter. Light stiffly accepts his driver's license and the cartons. One goes in his pocket, the other doesn't fit. He's just turning to leave when it happens.

'Antidepressants? For someone like you?'

There they are. The magic words. Light takes a deep breath and begins walking away. Not now, not today, not again.

'Hey, didn't you hear my question?' The doctor's voice is sharp and mocking, and God, it cuts Light deeper than he'd ever admit. 'Come on, boy, answer me.'

And he's right, isn't he? Light is a college student studying to become a detective. His grades are impeccable. His family is the nuclear unit. He shouldn't be here, standing in the middle of this flickering convenience store trying to stop his mouth twisting into a quiet sob.

What went wrong? What did he do wrong?

Light is walking away, shutting the words out of his mind. There's some dusty shelves nearby, and he sits down on one of them. The cheap white metal sags beneath his weight.

He stays still, curled there for a half-second before his head drops to his chest and presses the carton into his neck.

The Quik-E Mart near the cafe and the park is badly illuminated and it's very dark where the young man is huddled. The carton is cutting into his chest, and yet he doesn't move.

_Just keep breathing_  is his rule, and he's promised himself to keep it.

0o0o0o

Across the store, someone else is at the counter, and the doctor knows them well.

'Back for more?' the man asks.

'Always,' they say, and pick up the boxes. They are having a hard time carrying them all, and keep overcorrecting.

Nobody else is here, just as nobody should be. This is his store, with the music so bad it's almost good (or is it just familiar? Funny that he'd like the soundtrack to his own disappointment of a story).

He tips his head up and loses himself in the music for a few moments. 'Alternative rock' or some garbage like that. Go one way or another. Of course, who's he to talk?

It's because of the beat of the music that he's glancing around at the surroundings, and it's because of that tic that he sees them.

_They aren't supposed to be here_  is the first thought in his head, but it's quickly pushed away. This might be a newcomer, but he's not quite a stranger if he's here in the store. Only people who have two different faces come here, so they must be kin one way or another.

Monstrous kin indeed, but they share some kind of bond in this shifting world, and it's maybe it's just that red string and no more that draws the raven towards him. He waits as the brunette rises, holding back, glancing at the counter.

0o0o0o

Back near the outdated vinyl albums that nobody ever buys, Light slowly uncurls, finally stands up and breathes. He has just decided to walk towards the exit when he sees them.

He holds himself like he is all too aware of his own fragility. He looks like someone who would tape themselves back together and stand up.

He's standing in front of Light, and he's struggling with the boxes in his arms and it's been just a few seconds too long before Light remembers what he holds and shoves it behind his back.

He drops one of the boxes, and Light automatically bends down to get it. He does the same, and they nearly collide and two of the three other boxes he was holding tumble from his arms with another muttered apology.

Light gathers those, too, and glances at the label before standing up. He can't help himself.

They're sleeping pills, the strong kind for people with severe insomnia. Not the commercial junk.

Light arranges the boxes in his arms and steps back. For the first time, Light looks at him truly.

He has wild raven hair and his eyes are shadowed and he is too tall for his body and he is staring at Light like he's not sure if Light will hurt him.

Light holds his breath when he steps closer and traces those shadows with the tip of his finger. They look well-worn.

He flinches back like he's been burned and Light yanks his hand away. He holds up a hand in a 'wait' gesture and the boxes nearly fall again.

'Sorry.'

His voice is rough and quiet like he never uses it and Light is filled with a odd kind of sorrow that the first word he heard from this Elysian-esque man would be 'Sorry'.

Neither of them say anything before he talks again.

'You look angry at yourself,' he says quietly, more an observation than a true conversation starter. Light nods numbly, because that is what he's feeling, somehow all summed up in under ten syllables. Magic, isn't it?

They stand there for what seems like an absurdly short time before they hear the doctor coming back. Light starts and grabs his hand to pull him out of the store. For some reason, he wants no one intruding on this first meeting.

It's a sultry August night and the month is young. The wind is just enough to make Light shiver. They stand there outside the sliding automatic doors, the horrible fluorescents slipping around the contours of their faces like oil, not really sticking to sweat-dampened skin. He is made of shadows, and his eyes are pure black pits from this angle, and it disturbs him-no, not that badly. Just rubs Light the wrong way? It's enough to make the brunette guide him to a different angle, just enough to see that those dark eyes are alive.

They must look odd, two strangers meeting in the parking lot outside a convenience store with light spilling from the entrance, watching each other in the way someone does when they aren't quite sure if they recognize the other.

And maybe it's just because they stand too close for normal conversation, but any word becomes a rough whisper.

'August,' he says, with a little quirk of his mouth. 'They say it's named after Julius Caesar's great-nephew Augustus Caesar.'

'Hot as fuck and generally awful,' Light grumbles.

He looks up and his eyes absolutely sparkle for a second. 'Roman emperors always were notorious for such heinous acts as poisoning geniuses and occasionally being stabbed thirty-six times by all their friends.'

'Twenty-three,' Light corrects automatically, before realizing his mistake. But it's too late: his smile is wicked and brutal, and he clearly planned that, and Light is loving how smoothly he'd been played a little too much for comfort.

'You know I meant the…!' Light steps forward, and he backs up a step in mock-deference, still grinning.

'Did you? My mistake. You never know, after all, and if the statues are to be believed…' He leans closer, and growls the next words. 'Have you seen those cheekbones?'

It's a bit too long before Light pulls back, but his mind is immediately turning to those statues, comparing the face against other's. And yes, they're sharp and tight and oh God, he kind of wants something like that right now…

With a choked noise, Light returns back to him and his infuriatingly knowing smile. How can someone look so satisfied while barely balancing four boxes? Him, he can.

'Yes, he was known to be quite a catch. Bloodstained and murderous, a bit deranged, a touch sadistic-as you do, in positions of high power, and especially back in Rome-but if that's your thing, then by no means let me stop you.'

Light stiffens at that. He pauses, then raises an eyebrow. The highlights on his face are truly dramatic.

'Don't tell me,' he teases.

With a slipping snarl, Light grabs his upper arms and pushes him back against the wall. 'Keep fucking playing…' he whispers.

His eyes widen and the boxes clatter to the ground once more. Light doesn't move to grab them this time, just holds the raven against the rough brick storefront.

They stand there for what must be seconds, but they'd hold the pose for hours. They seem right like this, so possessive and controlling, and yet so alien. They aren't supposed to be like this, not now. Maybe later, maybe earlier, but not now.

They breathe in tandem, and it's the echoing kind of sound. Breathe, breathe, as humans always do.

_Breathe with me?_

'So…' It's barely a breath of a word. 'The angel's got fire. Can I burn you with your own weapons, little angel?'

'Don't try,' Light says. It's silent. 'It's heavenly fire,' he adds impulsively, unsure about what he's doing.

'Are you implying that I'm a demon?' he chuckles. 'Mmm, not denying anything just yet. This does beg the question: How am I able to touch you, then?' As if to prove that he can, he lets a finger brush carelessly across Light's palm. It trails sparks and Light shivers closer.

'Maybe you're just a fallen angel,' Light suggests.

'Or maybe we made a deal. What did you sell your heart and soul to me for?'

It's intimate, the voice they're both using for whatever roleplay this is that they've caught onto.

'What I could never get from humans,' Light replies, and with that, the veneer the odd moment had given the air is gone. They stand there together against the cold brick wall, but there's a easiness beneath their movements now.

'If we're going to be such…' Light struggles for a word for a long second. 'Rivals. I should get to know who I'm battling, shouldn't I?' His throat is dry and his voice almost cracks when he gets the words out. 'The cafe with the best strawberry cake. Nine PM, tomorrow. I'll be waiting in the back booth...angel.'

Without another word, he kneels to pick up the boxes. The raven is frozen speechless and stays a pliant statue as Light places the boxes back in his arms.

The sun is setting behind the brunette, and it gilds his hair and illuminates each tousled strand. Something has settled in the raven's stomach, and it feels a lot like respect and maybe want. He wants the brunette boy as his, and maybe that was another red string pulling them together.

The raven inclines his head just barely. It could be anything, but it's 'yes'. If Light takes it that way, and he does.

Light smiles, and it's beautiful and brilliant, just like him. Then he steps back. It's hot in August and the wind ruffles Light's hair when he turns and walks away.

_He called me 'angel'._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, it’s time to do this again. I still haven’t gotten better at those introductions, you’ll find. 
> 
> But I do them. I sigh and drag my hands to the keyboard and say ‘Welcome?’ because I should. If I could say ‘hello’ through a story instead, I would. 
> 
> Haven’t I been? You know me better through the sentences I’ve thrown into the world than these notes, surely. 
> 
> :: Sound-cancelling headphones that play music too softly for the amount of noise they block out


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wonder, go through little bits of their lives that they don’t really pay attention to.

So it was today, the day someone else was in the little store? Some number of red strings made the raven walk over and stare and decide to play with the young man with antidepressants he doesn't want seen, and maybe he's grown a little obsessed with counting how many there are.

He has a feeling that the strings will keep revealing themselves and the complexity of their woven web, and he has barely a sliver of a chance to escape now. He can still escape. He can still get out of the maze he saw inside those words and the mind that made them and be able to heal the wounds already left behind.

Partially, at least. Not that it matters. He was bound to play the game the moment he saw those honey-brown eyes. He could never leave his angel, even if it was just because he wants nobody else showing them how to dance.

He could leave now, or can he? Mentally?

He's going back, isn't he? Of course he is. He'll run back time and time again, if only because he wants to see another of his kind. The kind that pulls a hood up in the convenience store and tucks the cartons away completely before stepping back out. Sort of monstrous, the lengths they'll go to in order to keep their masks organized, isn't it?

He looks back to where he disappeared and realizes with a jolt that they have no names, no contact information, just a bare promise that they'll both show up.

The raven blocks out the nagging thoughts and starts home. The sidewalk is narrower here, and grass pokes up between the cracks. He knows every step of this path, it is one he's walked countless times before. The new path with Light will be more challenging.

He knocks twice on the door of the apartment complex and buzzes himself in. The elevator has mirrored walls, and though he normally keeps his eyes on other things (it's just easier), today, he dares to look up and see.

Someone strange stared back at him. They wore his white shirt and skinny jeans and oh, they bore those damned black circles under their eyes, but they hold themselves differently.

Wild. Messy. Stumbling out of one fight into another with a grin.

He looks _exuberant_.

Did the brunette boy really have that effect on him, and in such a short time? Because if he can, if he can set L aflame with barely a touch and a few words, then their conversations will be like wildfires, and he will gladly throw himself into the pyre.

It will be worth it, because his angel makes him feel so alive and present and raw with old things he'd thought forgotten.

The elevator dings and he throws one last glance at the man with the cheerful recklessness in every step in the mirror.

0o0o0o

The place isn't horrible. It could be worse. He could have been back in that motel room with the cigarette burns on the sheets. This place is at least clean, although quiet (when did that turn from an asset to a liability?)

It's quiet and cluttered and full of his textbooks from back when he was still in college. L sits down at his table and pushes the closest papers away. He'll get to them eventually. Their chaos bothers him, and yet he never seems to actually want to clean up.

The rest of the night passes as if he hadn't met the brunette boy. Clicking links, having many tabs open, music (actual alternative, with no rock), staring at the unopened messages in his inbox. It could be acceptance letters. It could also be rejection, and he's not ready for that if it is. The confirmation date is coming up quickly, and he really doesn't want to work at the grocery store anymore. He should open them.

L opens another few tabs and almost makes the motions to log out of his Gmail.

The minutes take absurdly long to pass. He eyes the numbers at the corner of his screen and decides to try to sleep, even though he can practically feel how long he'll be entranced by his own thoughts, unable to nod off. The Internet is tiring him right now.

But first: L methodically clears plates and glasses from around the kitchen while retrieving the boxes from the counter. In the bathroom, the earlier empty boxes-same brand, identical carbon copies all of them-are dumped into the trash and the new ones take their place. L readies himself for bed and then swallows the pill dry. Hopefully it'll help tonight.

That night, he isn't sure if he really dreamed every one of the warped versions of their storefront encounter.

0o0o0o

Light finds himself wandering. Two years in Tokyo has given him enough of a mental map to not get immediately lost, but still, it's dark and he should get home. He tells himself that as he continues walking, gazing at the perfect trail of streetlights that line the roads.

_I'll take ten minutes_ , he tells himself, sitting down on a park bench and swinging his legs slightly. The raven-haired man has been a constant companion in his head since the moment he walked away.

_Will he show up?_ Light shivers and pulls at the sleeves of his thin jacket. It's not like I gave him much reason to come.

The brunette stays like that for a few moments, absorbed quietly into thought. Then he abruptly rises and starts purposefully back home before remembering that there will be no homework sitting on the polished desk at home, no new emails to check or compose. It's done for a few weeks.

It's August, and he has time to do things like talk to the man with raven hair and awkward height.

Light goes home anyways, more to think about the challenge he threw down than anything else.

It's a little flat within view of Toho University and within walking distance of his parent's home. Light keeps it meticulously neat and maintained. If everything else is crumbling, neatness is the steadfast anchor in the chaos.

And he'll need order, he realizes, absentmindedly handling a cup before placing it in the dishwasher.

He'll need order because of his new source of chaos-oh, yes, the raven-haired man will be the newest hurricane. What he can't tell right now is if it'll be a storm he can stand outside in and laugh among the raindrops or one he'll hide from, just praying that he will be able to rebuild when it's gone.

_What kind of storm are you, raven?_ Light asks. _I should know before I get too attached to the way you'll ruin me. But not knowing is half the fun…_

Light's hands keep moving, unsure of themselves without problems to solve. Brushing across wood grain, tapping the back of a chair, restlessly carding through hair.

_I should get some sleep._

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he sees it's appeal. He's exhausted and yet wired, like the night before exams.

Light only manages to shrug off his jacket before collapsing into bed. The cartons in his pocket can wait.

0o0o0o

The next day dawns slow and sleepy, the morning dew barely holding a faint chill before it mellows out into another heavy August day.

L shows up early for work as per usual in order to avoid the rush of his coworkers tripping over their feet and losing uniforms. (Well, just one coworker, usually.)

'Ryuzaki? Can you stock aisle three?' the supervisor asks, still distracted by her phone. 'It's chips and chocolate and stuff.'

''Course,' L replies. He'll have to figure out which items are actually in need of stocking, since he's clearly getting no help from others.

He's in the middle of cataloging the salsa jars when Matsuda shows up. He's technically on time, but L sees it as late. Early is the only 'on time' for him.

'Hey, Ryuzaki! Apparently I'm helping you today.' The younger claps his hands together theatrically. 'So, what do I have to do?'

'Start at the far end and see which items need stocking,' L instructs. Matsuda nods and bounds off.

Maybe it's because of the hoodie he threw on over his uniform or the fact that nobody would expect to run into the person you asked to meet working in a grocery store, but when a deep, almost husky voice sounds from over his shoulder, L nearly drops the bag of barbecue potato chips.

'May I…?'

'Sorry,' he whispers, trying desperately not to turn around and see those brown eyes. Him? Here?

Somehow, L manages to extricate himself from against the shelf without revealing his face. The brunette doesn't seem to pay much attention to him after that, and L walks hurriedly over to Matsuda.

'I need you to handle the chips right now. Here, hand me those crackers-' L's hands are shaking just barely. The crackers might be over the expiration date.

'Ryuzaki?'

'Matsuda, don't ask. Just...please.'

Matsuda raises an eyebrow. Ryuzaki, saying please?

'Fine,' he agrees. When he looks at the chip section, there's someone standing there, and he makes a mental note to interrogate Ryuzaki if he knows this mystery man.

Between aimlessly rearranging chip bags, Matsuda sneaks glances at the young man. He has a thoughtful expression, all furrowed brow and lowered eyebrows.

He looks up when Matsuda gets too close.

'Can I help you?' he asks.

'Oh! Sorry, no. I'm just stocking,' Matsuda explains. 'What's your name?'

'My name is Light.' He motions to Ryuzaki, stacking boxes at the other end of the aisle. 'Can you tell your friend sorry from me? I think I bumped into him earlier and scared him off.'

'Ryuzaki doesn't scare easily,' Matsuda assured him. 'Oh-yeah, I'll do that.'

Matsuda drifts off, picking at the corner of a worn cardboard box. The brunette seems fairly normal, and maybe Ryuzaki was just having another one of those 'just let me stock in peace' days. It could be nothing.

0o0o0o

L is all too aware of the presence far to his right. He's still fiddling with the cracker box from five minutes ago. If he doesn't move, it'll look suspicious.

With what, given the circumstances, is a Herculean effort, L manages to move somewhat normally, neatening the lines of merchandise and putting down the crackers. _I'll just wait until he's gone_ , L tells himself, pulling the strings of the hoodie more securely around his face.

He wasn't gone. In reality, it must have been barely five minutes, but it felt like twenty.

L does manage to wait until he is gone before mumbling an excuse and ducking to the bathroom to splash water on his face.

0o0o0o

Light leaned back slowly in his chair and checked the clock again and again and again. Maybe he was being nervous. And yet the folly of whatever lapse of judgement the raven had induced on him last night was becoming all too obvious. What had he been thinking?

Not much more than the bitter tang of old exhaust air and how it mixed with the smoky scent that had wrapped them both. Was it from him? What made him always smell like a wood fire or that he could absentmindedly set the dust particles in the sunlight aflame?

What was it about him that made Light act differently? It didn't make sense. If he intended to become closer to the man with shadowed eyes, Light could at least show him what he normally acted like, not a warped version. Of course, if being the impulsive young man with sharp words and arrogant humour got him closer, who was he to question?

He swore it was idiocy and yet he sat forward every time he thought about what the raven would talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows, first impressions can be misleading. ‘For better or for worse’ is the question for these two, and I do hope that’s it’s ‘better’. 
> 
> :: The snapping-crunching of knuckles cracked first thing in the morning


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L and Light meet, ask questions, talk about things other people skirt around.

Isn't everything idiocy, if you look at it right? But you have a choice whether to see it like that or not, and maybe you can tip your head up to the rain falling from the sky and laugh and sometimes you will just stare at the puddles and wonder how fast the glassy surface dimples.

Maybe everything was idiocy, or only certain things induced it. And if the latter was true, then the brunette boy was his. The one who was his perfect storm and the standing anchor in the middle of it all at the same time. The flawless pair.

L kept staring at the mirror. The act wasn't nearly as bolstering as people claimed, especially when he could see the boxes sitting just in the corner of his vision. It was time to go, anyways. When had it changed from him dismissing the true thought of showing up to wondering whether it was too early to start walking?

It was just to 'talk'; but who asks someone out just for that nowadays?

With an effort, L dragged his eyes away from the boxes and mirror. He could go now. If he wasn't there, then…

What would he do? L hadn't (well, barely) allowed himself to consider what he would do if the brunette didn't show up. Just sit there awkwardly? Order something? Leave, L decided, feeling betrayed that he even had to.

0o0o0o

The air is crisper than last night but still sluggish, and it rejuvenates L's spirits. The prospect of seeing him (and finding out what had compelled him to invite a complete stranger to the cafe) was finally sinking in, and it made L's hands shake until he finally stuck them in his pockets.

But the closer he drew, the more thoughts crowded to the front of his mind. He was nervous, plain and simple, and refused to acknowledge any suggestions as to why.

What if he isn't there, what is he isn't there was beating out, staccato, inside his head. What if he isn't there, and what do I do then? And when-if-he wasn't, came back with a flimsy apology and fake smile, what damaged part inside L was telling him that he would still jump at the chance to talk if he showed up again?

L had all but convinced himself that the brunette had reneged on his promise by the time he'd stepped inside. That's why it took shocked him when he was there, curled up in the far booth with a gray sweater and nervous eyes.

L knew the expression on his face must have been obnoxiously happy, but he couldn't force it away. He was here, and all the thinking about whether he might not be seemed silly now. Of course he was here. They needed to know, and thirst for information was one rarely matched.

His eyes lit up when L approached, matched with a incredulous grin.

'You showed up.' His smile wanes slightly, probably remembering earlier suspicions.

L sits down across from him. 'Did you think I wouldn't?'

'I mean, I pushed you against a wall and demanded we meet. Forgive me if I had my doubts.' It's matched with a dazzling smile that L is almost positive the brunette doesn't know is so.

The conversation teeters for a few moments between awkward and companionable silence. L has a feeling that what side he pushes it to will be an underlying theme for their next meetings.

But what if he doesn't want silence? What if he wants something that breaks the shell around him in a world full of numbing anesthetic?

He wants this angel's song to be his. He wants him to talk forever with those sparkling eyes and smile curving up the side of his mouth, and he wants the words like offerings to be his and his alone, spoken so low and close that nobody else could hear. He wants Light to be something so unlike the sleeping pills that started all of this.

Be my adrenaline, be my endorphins, be the drug that keeps me running back. Just don't be the thing that makes me fall asleep and never wake up.

L doesn't want them to be silence or white noise.

'Have you heard about the killings?' L grabs onto the first thing that crosses his mind, which happens to be a poor decision.

'The poisoned ones? Yeah. The one where nobody knows who they are, only that they're targeting criminals, right?'

'All they've found was the residue of the poison. Botulinum, right?' L gratefully keeps with the tone. 'And they can't find who's been targeted until the victims start showing signs eighteen hours after they've been poisoned.'

'Must be an awful way to die.' The brunette drops off quietly. It feels like he knows a lot about the subject.

And even then, hands twisted quietly in his sweater, brow furrowed, he still looks angelic. Sorrowfully so, but still.

'What's your name?' L asks to break the silence. He has been calling this boy the wrong names for all too long.

'Light,' he says quietly, eyes flicking up. They are filled with an odd sort of hope, the kind you get when you wonder if this time, you'll be able to do things right, better, just one more time. He looks young, childish. 'Light Yagami.'

0o0o0o

'L,' he says back. The lamplight here is making the shadows underneath his eyes especially obvious, and Light aches to brush his fingers along them like he did last night. His eyes. _L's_ gray eyes, so dark they are almost black.

'L Lawliet.'

He pronounces it like ' _low light_ ', this hesitating young man with messy hair and gray eyes.

'That's a pretty name,' Light murmurs, feeling half-asleep. Floating. It's perfect, really.

'Call me Ryuga, if you need. It's my nickname. Ryuga, that is.' L manages to look up, and he looks a bit abashed. 'I was on the verge of simply calling you Angel, I didn't know your name for so long.'

_Angel_...Light turns the word over in his head. It is old and familiar, and the shapes of the letters are already settling in like puzzle pieces all over his skin.

'You can call me that,' he offers, on impulse. It just seems right. He's already done it anyways, last night. 'If you want.'

'Okay...angel.' L's mouth twitches into a smile for half a second before he looks away, pink dusting his cheeks and collarbones.

He's so hesitant, afraid of saying a word too many. Light finds himself leaning in, if only just to get closer to the source of that smoky smell.

The arrival of the waitress breaks them apart. Light jumps back and glances guiltily at L, who chose that moment to do the same. They look away. Light finds himself oddly smiling.

The waitress looks at them askance for a second before motioning to Light for the order.

'Green tea and-what do you want?' he asks, glancing over. That split-second look shocks him; all L's hesitant grace and quirky smiles are gone, replaced by an indifferent stone mask.

'Cake,' L mutters. 'Please.'

Even when the waitress leaves, he barely relaxes. They sit in silence until their food arrives, upon which L picks at the strawberry cake moodily.

'Is it something I did?' Light asked, more worried than angry. L shakes his head quickly.

'No. You're fine, don't worry.' He gives Light a smile, and the brunette smiles back and relaxes, sliding his green tea closer.

Sorry. I'm just not used to it, not yet.

It's a companionable silence, though, and neither of them really feels the need to break it until they've finished and are finding that they don't want to leave.

'What's your line of work?' L asks in a bid to keep the conversation going.

'I'm still in college.' Light points out the window to a looming silhouette of a building: Toho University. 'I'm studying to become a police detective. Forensics, criminal justice, law enforcement, the works.'

The word 'detective' instinctively makes L sit up, but he brushes it off. 'Interesting,' he says instead. 'Any reason why?'

Light sinks down in his chair, looking perturbed. 'My father is an officer.'

L just stares for a few seconds, scared of saying the wrong thing. Light finally shows a thin smile.

'You?'

'I work in the family business,' L says casually. Technically, yes, along with a side job for the bills. 'It's not fun. Basically, accounting.'

'Why don't you quit?' Light jokes, but the tone strikes just a bit too serious with L.

'I wish. But I'm really good at it, so why quit now?'

'Because maybe you have a secret talent for painting that you've never told anybody about,' Light whispers overdramatically. L laughs in surprise and relief. Light leans closer again, eyes bright. 'Another thing I can't believe about you is that you somehow got me to talk about the Kira Case before we knew each other's names.'

'Names aren't important,' L says intensely.

0o0o0o

The raven nibbles at another bite of his cake before continuing.

'As for the Kira Case? I suppose I did. I thought you'd be a bit weirded out by my choice of conversation starter…'

'Its unconventional.' Light frowned at his overly hot green tea. 'But I like it. I don't get to have many intellectual conversations about Kira. Most people just throw out the old 'He only kills criminals!' and leave. They skip over the whole part about Kira being a puzzle master. Like the notes he left-what do you think about them?'

'The notes aren't meant to convey a direct or even subtle threat.' L rubbed a bit of cake off his lip. 'It's more of an invitation to start hunting him for real.'

Light didn't say anything, just nodded, eyes fixed on L's. Go on.

'He wants to be fully recognized by the police and become their major threat. For what reason, I can't imagine. It seems counterproductive.' L dropped off for a moment, collecting every shred of information he knows about Kira, focused on that and that alone. 'Maybe he wants to show the world that no matter how much the police tries to beat him, he'll win?'

'So he's an exhibitionist with a superiority complex. It doesn't seem like he's trying for a specific end of eliminating the world of crime. More like he's taking care of the biggest threats to his title of 'biggest threat to the police'.'

L looks at Light with a new kind of interest. The brunette is...brilliant, honestly. And it should scare him, the mind behind those brown eyes, but it excites him in a fast, hot, burning way. Light is someone he can truly see as an equal.

Maybe it was the impassioned way he spoke about even the littlest things that drew L in like a moth to a flame. Maybe it was the eloquent sentences backed up by cynical quips or the loosely open way he motioned. Maybe it was the way he'd jump from one topic to another with barely a connection between them, razing that field and moving onto the next.

Light was a wildfire when he spoke, and L was enthralled.

That might have been why it was much easier and yet harder standing at the door this time. They linger, repeating 'goodnight' and yet unwilling to make the first step.

_Will I ever see you again?_ L wonders, drinking in the sight of the brunette boy with brilliant eyes. If it was just for tonight, then maybe he should have spent it better. But what better than seeing Light raw and purely human, laughing?

If it was just for tonight...

0o0o0o

_Do it!_ Light pleaded with himself, _do it or you'll never see L again._

If neither of them spoke, they'd run away and try to forget that they were tangled together, try to forget the words that hummed between them every time they were close. Try to forget the taste of smoke and cooling pavement; of August.

He wouldn't, not in time.

0o0o0o

'Well...goodnight.' Light rocks back and forth on his heels, unspoken words clear on his lips. He refuses to meet L's eyes.

'Hey.' It's a quiet question, and Light looks up.

L waits, and soon enough, Light steps forward again, a gentle hand brushing his. The squeak of a marker cap being untwisted, and Light looks up at him, silently asking (pleading?).

_Of course. Of course I want to see you; I want to know every one of your sharp edges you try so hard to hide and know how much they hurt_.

The marker is thin and cool, and L admires the writing. Fast and slanted, underscored by horizontal scribbles, like a childish drawing of a tornado.

Just a few numbers.

Light steps back, but the heat of his hand leaves a mark. It's like L can see it; blue on his skin, like ink, just like the ink forming those numbers.

'Saturday?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So shy, this meeting. So careful and gentle and warm. I always thought they’d like a chance like this. 
> 
> Normally, they wouldn’t even know how to manage something like this. 
> 
> Canon Lawlight isn’t like this. But this isn’t canon, this isn’t ‘Death Note’, this is a different version of a story I’ve changed. 
> 
> Slowly, softly, like angel feathers. Try, one more time. 
> 
> :: The cracking of seams when they’re stretched too far


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of their first meeting.

He'd asked 'Saturday?' and L had said 'Definitely.' And Light had smiled and touched his shoulder as he'd walked out the door, and twenty minutes later L could still imagine the heat of Light's skin through his thin shirt, that heat seeping down his back and curling over his shoulder blades like ink dropped in water.

A tattoo, or a brand in the way it was immovable. A phantom brand that settled just beneath his skin and hummed.

So ****he's willing to look at himself in the mirrored walls of the elevator just to see if there's a difference, and there is. He's smiling involuntarily, and it looks giddy and stupid and he loves it.

It isn't until he wakes up the next morning that L remembers he forgot the sleeping pill and for the first time in years, didn't need it.

_You keep me awake and make me fall asleep,_ L thinks. _What is it about you?_

0o0o0o

Light finds himself moving around his kitchen early Friday morning, directionless and aimless. He's still not used to having this two-week break from school, he admits, putting down the cup of coffee he doesn't need.

He should have made the date closer. Saturday was tomorrow, and that was too long to wait. Of course, Light realized, that didn't mean he was completely cut off. L had his number. He didn't have L's-in hindsight he should have stuck around a bit later and found it out-but he could just wait until L texted him.

It was about twenty minutes until his phone buzzed, and Light grabbed for it with embarrassing speed.

**From: Unknown Number**

: _Can we talk again, angel?_

Light smiled at that.

**From: Light**

: _Of course. I'll always be here._

**From: Unknown Number**

: _If you're not busy_

**From: Light**

: _Interesting things take priority._

**From: Unknown Number**

: _So I'm interesting?_

**From: Light**

: _Very_.

**From: Unknown Number**

: _Thanks_

**From: Unknown Number**

: _I'm not used to this_

**From: Light**

: _Not used to messaging?_

**From: Unknown Number**

: _Yeah_

**From: Light**

: _Why?_

**From: Unknown Number**

: _Never had much chance to meet people and have them write down their numbers on my arm at a cafe_

**From: Unknown Number**

: _Which I ended up at because we had earlier met and they had pushed me against the wall and told me to come and then left_

**From: Unknown Number**

: _With no contact info_

**From: Unknown Number**

: _Or even a name_

**From: Unknown Number**

: _Not like that's ever happened to me_

**From: Light**

: _How else did you expect us to meet?_

**From: Unknown Number**

: _In the middle of a fight to the death_

**From: Light**

: _As enemies?_

**From: Unknown Number**

: _Oh, yeah. We'd totally be enemies. We'd be bitter rivals until the very end and yet probably still have a secret friendship._

**From: Light**

: _That seems like us_.

**From: Unknown Number**

: _That seems very much like us. We'd be complete opposites. Fire and water. Angel and demon._

L sat in his kitchen, idly swirling a cup of coffee that he belatedly realized was unnecessary. He knocked it back anyways and logged into his email.

The emails were piling up. College application prompts, notifications from the work group chat, and the regular junk mail, but nothing from his old job. Blocking them from his mailing list would do nothing. If Matt was to help contact someone, no amount of firewalling would stop him.

L felt slightly sick as he stared at all the unread tabs. Maybe they had been serious when they said he'd never hear from them again if he chose to stop working. But he'd made the right choice, no matter how much he missed them.

Two minutes later, his inbox was empty again and L was still texting with Light.

Because after all, every step he made in this new life was one step further from his old, and there was no magical 'reset' button that would allow him to go back to where he once fit; exactly, just another puzzle piece. (And now there wasn't any others he fit with.)

He had made his choice and smashed the button that kept him in with the Wammy boys and left forever.

It was warm and bright in the apartment. It was early August, and L was talking to the brilliant boy who spoke like fire, and the prospect of a long day at work didn't seem too bad.

0o0o0o

'You should put your phone away, Ryuzaki,' Matsuda says. 'Sayu will get mad.'

'Let her,' L muttered. 'She's on hers all the time.'

**From: Light**

: _Objectively, there should be no way for a genetic mutation that unstable to survive past embryo in the egg. So I'm calling you out_.

**From: L**

: _It would be possible under very specific conditions, most probably in captivity_.

**From: Light**

: _We weren't talking about 'possible in captivity'. We were talking about whether or not a five-headed snake could actually be hatched without major problems, and I'm saying no. The odds are too astronomically slim._

**From: L**

: _But they're possible, right? The chance exists. It could happen, and even if it hatches stillborn, I win._

**From: Light**

: _It depends on what kind of snake it is, too. I'm pretty sure some of them don't have it in their coding_.

**From: L**

: _Stop trying to justify your loss, pretty boy_

**From: Light**

: _You're insufferable._

**From: L**

: _I also won_

'Ryuzaki, you're forgetting your shelves again,' Matsuda pointed out.

'Hold on.'

**From: Light**

: _I'm researching this later._

**From: L**

: _And prove my point? By all means, be my guest_

'Ryuzaki!' Matsuda elbowed L sharply as Sayu walked past. 'Who are you texting that's so important?'

L glanced down and felt an inexplicable blush rise to his face.

'A friend.'

Matsuda clearly took it all wrong. 'A friend with benefits or…'

'No!' L barely resisted the urge to bury his red face in his sweater sleeves. 'Just someone I met.'

**From: L**

: _My idiotic coworker is yelling at me to get off, talk later_

**From: Light**

: _Expect a debate on the snake subject when you return._

L clicked off his phone and raised an eyebrow at Matsuda.

'Happy?'

'Very,' the idiot said, beaming from ear to ear. Moron. Light was in no way like that.

Stupid involuntary blush.

0o0o0o

Matsuda chatters constantly, trying none too subtly to pry information out of L.

'What were you talking about? Because studies say that what you talk about in what stage of your relationship shows a lot. So, that brings us to when you met...'

'We're not in a relationship!' L practically yelled, his wild movements knocking boxes off the shelves.

'Oh, come on-'

'His name is Light,' L growled, speaking through his teeth. Matsuda fell silent, eyes wide. 'He's-he's going to the same college I'm thinking about. I was hoping he had some pointers about it.' _And he has these brilliant brown eyes and the way he talks makes my chest feel all funny and I should be annoyed by his arrogance and the way he poses questions but I'm not._

_I'm not and I have too many and yet not enough reasons why_.

They spend the following hours in silence, methodically stocking shelves with barely an 'excuse me' when they pass. L can feel the question Matsuda is asking in all but word: ' _Are you together anyways?'_

When his shift is over, L braces himself to look at the younger, who, to his credit, doesn't cower. Wordlessly, L shakes his head and turns to leave, already yearning for his apartment with a cup of tea.

'Light? Light Yagami?'

L stiffens and carefully looked back. Matsuda was an open book, all innocence and earnest honesty.

'You know him?' L asked. Light didn't seem like the kind of person who would fraternize with Matsuda.

'No, not really. I met him a few times growing up, but he was always studying. But here's the thing: he's Sayu's brother!'

L frowned at the aforementioned girl, laughing and chatting on her phone. She looked like someone who would go through phases; bright and warm, cold and 'forgotten', finally mellowing out and disappearing as quietly as she'd came. A star no brighter and no dimmer than the rest, indistinguishable among the night sky.

But her brother...her brother was a supernova, one that destroyed everything you thought you knew and burned it's image into your eyes.

Although, L realized with a start, Light wasn't like that for everyone. Maybe to someone else, he was just another pinprick in the sky…

To L, though, he was some sort of angel hidden beneath a human gaze, and maybe his wings didn't come out in feathers but instead in words and phrases and intense, stunning glances.

What sort? Who knew, but probably a fallen one.

0o0o0o

'Coworkers…' Light mumbled, picking at the corner of his wearing phone case. 'I mean, he couldn't have talked forever.' But now I'm bored. With a sigh, Light forced himself out of his chair and outside into the cooling air. Just the bite of the Tokyo city street against his skin felt good.

Light ended up walking to his parents' house. The idle babble of the living room there always helped clear his head of recurring thoughts, and L was definitely a recurring thought right now.

'Light! I haven't seen you in so long!'

'I've been busy with college,' Light said easily. 'I like to keep my grades the highest in class.'

'Just as expected! You got in by your outstanding entry exam results, right?' His mom paused awkwardly at that, suddenly unable to meet Light's eyes. Light gave a small smile and and called for Sayu, walking towards the kitchen table.

Soichiro Yagami was seated in his customary position at the upper left of the table, poring over newspapers and files.

'What's the latest information on the Kira Case, Dad?' Light asked, sitting down diagonally from his father, who sighed and rubbed his face. When the old officer looked up, the lines at the corners of his eyes and the grey in his hair were both more pronounced.

'He just keeps targeting, and we're hopeless to stop him. He has so many ways to access them. We thought he was slipping it into the drinks at a certain bar, but as soon as a plainclothes officer was put on watch, the poison went into the food at a supermarket-and still only for the criminals!'

'Sorry to hear it,' Light said sincerely. 'How do you intend to stop him?'

'We can't. He's human-unless this is some act from the gods-but he's invisible. We have no leads except the people he's killing.'

Light suddenly remembered L's interest on the subject (hadn't been long before the raven demanded presence again, he reflected wryly).

'Kira is an exhibitionist,' he blurted, then stumbled back to recollect his thoughts. Soichiro looked up, eyes narrowed in interest.

'Repeat that?'

'Kira is an exhibitionist. He wants all the police's attention on him, and that's why his targets are major criminals; arsonists and murderers and the like. It's possible he has another side party ready to attack when the police are focused on him...no, no. A side plan, if anything, but I think being Kira is his only focus. What he could want out of it, I have no idea.'

'That's…' The old detective blinked a few times, nodding. 'New. I won't say accurate yet, but it's very smart. Where did you come up with it?'

'I didn't,' Light said. 'I met someone...at the store. We were kind of in line together, and one of the nearby headlines was talking about the latest killings. We noticed it and struck up a conversation. He had some pretty good ideas.' _And his eyes are this beautiful dark grey, you couldn't imagine a night sky half as abyssal…_

'He seems interesting,' Soichiro said thoughtfully. 'Did you happen to get his number?'

'No!' Light blushed and breathed out, deeply, furiously, irrationally.

He could imagine how that meeting would go, because his mother would want to meet the boy who knew so much about the Kira Case, and his father would want to talk strategy, and Light would be left burning at L's side with all those secret glances, brown eyes, black eyes, to the blue-inked numbers still fading on L's arm.

L, with his quiet tread and soft smile, bowing slightly as he introduced himself, _'I'm L. Has Light mentioned me…?'_

And Light would answer instead, only in thoughts so quiet L couldn't hear _. Only in quiet whimpers underneath the covers, haunted by the image of your hands threading through and against mine._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have time for this now. And I like what happens when they do. It makes for a better dynamic. Less sharp. 
> 
> :: Walking towards the source of a siren and the way the sound comes from nowhere and everywhere


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts with a text. The notion of challenge between them is different.

**From: L**

: Have you noticed the rain

**From: L**

: If you're awake you should have

**From: Light**

: I noticed. Apparently the smell of rain is actually just the enhanced smell of everything-the streets, the trees, etc. Rain just brings it out.

**From: L**

: I don't know what led you to researching facts about rain smell and won't ask but that is pretty cool

**From: Light**

: I was not. I just ended up finding out about it. And it's not 'rain smell', it's 'petrichor'.

**From: L**

: Nerd

**From: Light**

: Says the man who forced me into an argument about five-headed snakes.

**From: L**

: Which you went along with

**From: L**

: And 'petrichor' is the smell of rain on dry earth, not rain smell just anywhere. So you are wrong

**From: Light**

: Did you research petrichor just to one-up me?

**From: L**

: So what if I did

**From: Light**

: That's very us. This is also very us.

**From: L**

: Are you researching more into petrichor just to get the upper hand again

**From: Light**

: The name is derived from the Latin root for 'stone' (petro, as in petrify or petroleum) and the blood of the gods, ichor.

**From: L**

: Stone blood. That's pretty fucking metal for rain smell

**From: L**

: Also, you are insufferably arrogant and I hope you know that

**From: Light**

: Right back at you.

**From: Light**

: Now is also the time to discuss plans.

**From: L**

: Smooth transition. Same cafe, same time?

**From: Light**

: Sure. I should go study. Later.

**From: L**

: Later you nerd

Light shut the computer with a contented sigh and leaned back. Petrichor. It was pretty; sharp and smooth and fresh, like dewdrops along skin, or mist that could be caught in dark, wild hair.

0o0o0o

Studying took longer than usual. It was definitely more through, as Light hadn't been keeping up with review for a few days. The notion had completely slipped his mind. More important matters had been at hand.

Studying served a double purpose now. Both the intended and a (hopefully foolproof) way to keep Light's mind off L for the time being. The raven had already spent too much time as the star of his thoughts.

After just two meetings? After such a short time?

No, he couldn't think about that now. He had school to keep up with, even if it was a break. Formulas, diagrams. Deeper into this game of college-ruled paper.

And yet his thoughts kept going back to L. What if he couldn't stop thinking about him? Light didn't want to consider that there might not be a cure to whatever L had done to him.

And if there was, would he take it? Maybe solutions weren't always as simple as picking up chemicals in cardboard cartons.

_L, what is it about you_ …

Light dove further into the books and papers, losing himself in scenarios and problems that always had answers. This was what he was made for; solving pre-set problems, achieving higher and higher in the structure of society. Light knew the rules. He knew the game intimately. Most of all, he knew how to play the judges of it all.

In this world full of inked questions in impeccable writing, Light was a god.

Was that why L was so magnetic? In a world full of answers before questions, he was the one to look at you and ask things that you'd wonder about forever. He was startling and unnerving and Light had no plan to deal with him and his intense eyes. And that was good. That was a challenge, and Light desperately needed a challenge.

0o0o0o

A gray sweater. Simple, soft, with a hood and pocket. Irritatingly uneven drawstrings. Light rubbed the cuffs between his fingers and rearranged the hood better around his neck again, glancing in the mirror, fiddling with the strings, considering tucking them into his shirt.

No. That didn't work. With a groan, Light pulled them back out and tugged on the ends. Why had he studied for so long? Now he was rushed and stressed and  _if the damn drawstrings would just even out!_

And what about his jeans? They were really dark and the pockets kind of looked weird...

And that was when his phone buzzed the time. With a curse, the brunette boy turned away from the mirror and practically ran out of the flat.

0o0o0o

'Oh-sorry, excuse me, I have to get somewhere…' Light brushed past someone, keeping his eyes on the ground, still hopelessly trying to fix the drawstrings.

'Me too, but I at least look at the people I'm running past.'

Light stopped abruptly and turned around, the hood falling from his face in surprise. 'Ah. Hello, L.' His hands abruptly dropped from the hoodie strings, and he barely resisted the urge to tug at them again or rub at his neck.

'Hello, angel,' L said, giving a wicked grin that sent shivers darting along Light's spine. 'Should I walk with you, keep you safe from anything that might be lurking in the shadows?'

The retort of ' _I can handle myself_ ' died on Light's tongue, and he found himself murmuring, 'Yes…'

'Then come along,' L invited, placing a gently commanding hand on Light's back. The spot radiated heat.

'But really, fancy meeting up with you along the way,' the raven continued. 'At least this takes the pressure off being late.'

'That's a godsend. I was really worried, and I think I left late…' Light pushed up his sleeve and checked his watch, frowning. 'No, if this is correct, I left early. I remember setting my phone's timer five minutes early.'

0o0o0o

So, there was two sides to Light. The brilliant boy who leaned across the table with eyes like pure gold and honey to whisper quiet entreaties and pressed L back against the wall and growled a command to meet time and time again, and this one, the wide-eyed innocent who almost stumbled over his words and shivered and accepted at the offer for protection.

Light was so nervous and delicate, and L wanted to just catch him up and hold him close forever, to be nearer to the hint of what he could feel underneath his hand. Instead, he pointed out towards the illuminated buildings that rose in the distance.

'Look.'

Light did, and visibly tried to relax. 'It's nice.'

'Shh. Don't force it. Just...look, at all the suspended, human-made stars.'

0o0o0o

Maybe it was L's gentle words or the soft pressure on his back or the smell of petrichor in his hair (it was exactly like Light had imagined it), but Light breathed out slowly and relaxed.

'I tried taking a picture of that once,' L mentions quietly. 'Twice. Three times, and a million after that, but no matter what I tried, it never looks the same.'

'Maybe it's for the best.' L turned, and Light looked back at him with an odd smile. 'If you could have shown me this in a picture, you'd forget to mention the way that the wind whistles across the trees and flips up the tips of your hair, or the way the sidewalks smell after all the rain has gone away but the petrichor still lingers around you. You'd forget to mention August, L.' Light's smile fades into a look of entrancement as his fingers catch the ends of raven hair.

'I wasn't aware I was doing it now.'

'You are, with the way you're looking at me.'

_He's angelic_.

Wide eyes and anxious hands picking at his sweater. L steps forward and gently pushes Light's hands away, straightening the cords around his neck. His thumb lingers too long to be normal against Light's neck, but he can't force himself to care.

'Come on.'

And Light's hand brushed along the inside of his before both of them dropped the small comfort and they began to walk again.

0o0o0o

'It's almost closing time,' the barista said pointedly.

'Ah, so it is.' L's eyes sparkled. 'But it isn't yet, is it?' Without waiting for a response, he guided Light past the front counter and to the back table, a place Light was quickly coming to think of as theirs.

'Now that we're away from disapproving timekeepers, we can talk in peace.'

'About?'

L spread his arms and shrugged. 'Well, we never really finished that debate about the snakes. You never got back to me with your findings that would so clearly crush my argument.'

'I forgot about that,' Light muttered, smiling. 'But that doesn't mean I didn't research. First of all, there are basically no documented cases for such an anomaly to occur, which begs the question if it's even possible. I doubt it is.' He continued for a bit longer before L held up a hand.

'You lie very well, Light-kun. Almost well enough to convince me.'

Light stopped short, trailing off distractedly in the middle of a sentence. L smiled hugely.

'What?'

'So you were lying!'

'No!'

'Yes, you were, Light-kun.' L leaned across the table and grabbed one of the hoodie strings, pulling Light closer. His voice softened and lowered; this is a game he loves, and Light had been playing it just as long. Why did it feel like more than this insignificant issue, barely a wondering argument?

' _Tell me the truth, angel_.'

' _Never_.'

This is their game, and yet it is not. This version is playful and teasing and rivalry across a cafe table at nine at night. It is full of gentleness, of rain, and yet some other game calls their attention (a game of firewood).

'We'll have to see, then.' L is entranced. Light plays the game like he was born to, and who knows? Maybe he was. 'I have a long time to interrogate you.'

'So I'm your suspect?'

'Oh, definitely. Ever heard the saying 'if something is too good to be true, it probably is'? You're the perfect rival, and I keep looking for some sign that you aren't this person who I can match with in every way, but you might just be.'

'And you're mine,' Light whispers.

'Is that what we are, then? Rivals?' L looks truly hesitant for the first time. Not surprised, not cautious, and definitely not casually, passive-aggressively, and more than a bit cockily self-assured, and Light is surprised that it seems to takes a weight off his shoulders.

0o0o0o

Rivals. It's a safe word, the safest he could have possibly chosen. That isn't like him; from the moment he challenged Light with lies and a game of wits and wills (one that Light feels will go on forever) he's taken risks and they've paid off.

Is L scared he'll lose the game of chance this roll of the dice? He must be, or otherwise he's genuinely concerned about Light's answer.

Being rivals is safer than being friends, and even though he wants the latter more, does L?

0o0o0o

'If you want.' Light finds himself reaching out for those shadowed eyes, and this time, L doesn't pull away.

'It's good. Enough. For now.' L seemingly added the last part under his breath.

They sit in silence for a few seconds. It's an odd silence, neither comfortable or awkward. More intense than anything.

'Seems like someone's subtly hinting we should go.' L finally broke the trance, nodding towards the barista.

'Then shall we go, my rival?'

L looks up, and Light is standing in front of him, hand extended and a small smile on his face.

'That would be nice.'

Light stands at the door, hands in his pockets and a distant look on his face. The same quiet sense of everything and nothing settles over L as the last time he had said goodbye, and L wonders if he'll ever fail to feel it when Light disappears again.

'I could call you and arrange things,' Light says. He's still facing outside the window, but L catches his eyes for a second before they flick back to the city. 'But this is tradition, and I think I'll give you just one more piece of me before we go.'

His breath is warm on L's neck when he whispers the blog name and 'Monday, please?'. Then he steps back with an odd smile and turns away, gone again.

0o0o0o

Some people seem to be everything.

They are pure energy caught in knots, tied up in the fabric of physical form. They burst into your life and grab your hand and convince you that the fall won't be as bad as everybody says. That they'll hold your hand all the way down, and they'll show you the wonders angels never see.

And then they let go, and maybe it wasn't anybody's fault, just the nature of their shattered wings.

And you're still falling. Falling until you can't any longer.

And then you become like them or you become nothing. And some people can't handle everything, or they don't or won't see it when it appears to them.

With people like that, you had two options. You could hate them. Hate them for their careless energy and the way they laugh, for the way you've seen them with others or imagine that after they've disappeared from you. Hate them for letting go. Hate them for being the wildfire to your rainstorm, for burning too bright and too fast. Hate them because they are everything, and some people can't handle that.

Or love them for all the same reasons.

Light fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never sure how I actually write, looking back. 
> 
> But if I can capture just a hint, a fragment, a blurry, warped snapshot of the images I try (and fail) to convey, and if I can show you, who am I to decipher how? 
> 
> I'm sure someone else could explain it. As Arthur C. Clarke said, 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,' there is someone who can plot out exactly how anything happens. I won't call writing magic like the kind books have made famous, but it has to be some sort of 'sufficiently advanced'.
> 
> :: Drawing with pencil on your skin


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light has an unexpected blog. L appreciates it.

_'It's me_.' is the the title.

L expected intellectual arguments and well-thought out posts about the oddest topics-what Light had shown him before. Instead he got aesthetic posts and long-winded sentences that ignore grammar more and more the further they run. Light Yagami is woven into this blog, this meaningless, nonsensical blog with rules that only it's creator seems to know the intricacies of. And even then, is there any?

Of course there is; Light functions through rules and rules alone.

It's chaotic and Light barely posts. Nobody notices this little blog, tucked into the corner of the Internet. But it sings along to the cadence he does, and L drinks in every post, imagining the brunette speaking the words across their table, eyes focused on his.

' _Of words, those that die out and those that mean exactly what you're feeling_ …'

L closed his computer suddenly with a shudder.  _Light_ …

Without bothering to log out or close the blog, L simply left to huddle in his bed, words swimming through his mind for hours.

Who knew the angel wrote secret poetry? So secret, it was hidden in simple observations of the universe, casually slipped between quips and doublespeak like it didn't open eyes and make heads turn. The most obvious kind of secret was the most hidden.

Light wrote like he existed, a supernova among stars that people didn't see, just because they never bothered to look up, to look closer, to read between the lines offered.

And L was going to be damned if he didn't look closer and figure out every burst of colour and sound among the brunette's little cosmos.

Light woke up to several notifications and a memory of an odd dream. The latter he pushed out of his mind. The former was all from the blog he'd whispered to L, and it was comments and links and asks. All anonymously, of course, but who else talked like this?

_It's me._

_This is interesting, angel. Wish you would have shown me this part sooner. Though I wouldn't have turned down your number on the first night, either_

_Stars? How overused. Talk about the city_

_'Lights among city streets' Much better. Still just as sappy, you dork, but better_

_Aesthetic posts? Mmm, seems like you_

_Where's this kind of poetry in your texts?_

_Liar, we both know it doesn't work like that. Can I fault you for trying, though?_

_I would want to take pictures of that, but it can't be captured_

_Everywhere I'll notice that again, I'll blame you_

_This is to my angel. Thanks for this piece._

Who else spoke in games and riddles, knowing Light would be the only one to see the message left in plain sight?

With a smile, Light keyed in  _its-lawliet_  to the search bar and hit Enter.

0o0o0o

L's phone buzzed and he nearly laughed out loud. That had been quick! Of course, what else was he to expect from Light? Well, it was still quicker than Beyond's time, and L had thought he had been fast. No, don't think about Beyond now. Focus on Light.

_I promise I will focus on you, angel_ , L swore to himself, flipping over to his own blog and reading the ask there.

**From: Anon**

_:Very clever, you'd almost gotten me. It took me a whole thirty seconds. Try mixing up the numbers next time, perhaps with a substitution cipher?_

_That's very Light_ , L thought.

**From: its-lawliet**

_:Nerd_

**From: Anon**

_:You planted a code for me to find your blog!_

**From: its-lawliet**

_:I thought it was easy for you_

**From: Anon**

_:That's not the point._

**From: its-lawliet**

_:You're a giant sappy dork by the way_

**From: Anon**

_:Thanks, Mr. Blog Full Of Literal Tooth-Rotting Sweetness. Is that an inspirational quote overtop of an ocean scene?_

**From: its-lawliet**

_:At least I don't write poetry_

**From: Anon**

_:That wasn't poetry._

**From: its-lawliet**

_:It sounded like it_

**From: its-lawliet**

_:Generally you just sound like it_

**From: its-lawliet**

_:Poetry, I mean. But kind of like your blog too_

Silence from the other end.

**From: its-lawliet**

_:Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry. You just do kind of sound like it, which makes sense because you wrote it._

**From: Anon**

_:Nothing's wrong, L, don't worry. I was just sort of reconsidering. Thanks, I guess?_

**From: its-lawliet**

_:Oh. Yeah. You're welcome_

More silence, but less awkward. Then L's phone buzzed loudly with a FaceTime call. He picked it up anyways, even if it was just to yell:

'Why are you calling me?'

'Why wouldn't I be?' Light's smile wasn't as self-satisfied as normal, but stronger.

'Because you scared me.' L surreptitiously eyed his picture in the corner of the screen, trying to sit back far enough that he looked vaguely normal.

'I'll give you some warning next time, then?' Light offered a shadow of his old smile- _the 'in front of others' one?_  L wondered.

'Yeah, that'd be nice.' L realized his (not-quite?) mistake a few seconds too late. 'Wait-'

'Great, I'll send a text later tonight before we discuss this more thoroughly. Now, my sister's messaging me to come over, so I'll be going.'

'Light, you-'

_Click_.

L gaped at his phone with the downright obnoxiously cheerful ' _Your partner has disconnected_ ' message.

'Overdramatic bastard.'

0o0o0o

Light couldn't keep himself from smiling as he walked, or stop replaying the second he'd seen the shocked, unguarded expression on L's face. He should really look like that more often. And if Light had to break down all his thousands of guards against it, then it'd be worth it for just a few seconds more of the completely honest look in L's gray eyes.

Sayu just had to have the worst timing. Of course, he couldn't really tell his little sister that he was chatting with the intriguing man with wild raven hair and maybe setting codes and games and constantly on the verge of saying dangerous things.

Though L wouldn't forget those things; and was that what Light really wanted? Just a mark, a lasting scar on his heart.

Most people just wanted soft words and gentle touches. He had, too, before. It was L's fault, anyways, for being so delectably claimable.

0o0o0o

Apparently the dinner set out was just an excuse for Light's father to question him excessively over Kira's psychological profile, any other possible aspects of his personality, and his deductions as a whole. The topic Light was skirting around has been avoided so far, but he knew it wouldn't be long until L was brought up in a way that a passing mention wouldn't gloss over.

And when he did, it was him that did it.

'I've told you, that's all I know so far. L didn't go into much depth-' Light broke off, awkwardly continuing the sentence with, 'About it.'

'L?' His mother looked interested, but not nearly as much as Soichiro.

'You know his name?'

'Bumped into him again yesterday,' Light mumbled, refusing to meet anybody's eyes.

'Did you get his number?' his father asked thoughtfully.

'What? No! I-I just said hi. He was going somewhere or something.' Light began restlessly tapping on his legs. One short tap, one long, two short, repeat.

'What does he look like?' Sayu grinned, her hair wild and loose around her face. Light still wasn't used to seeing her without her customary ponytail.

'Gray eyes. Really dark gray eyes. Black hair that sticks up ludicrously in the back and curls away from his neck. He keeps it too long. Cocky with a hint of know-it-all.'  _And that's just about enough_ , Light berated himself.

'I was going to say that he sounds like Ryuzaki,' Sayu chuckled, 'but taking into consideration the last sentence, your mystery guy's more like you.'

'Who?'

'You, doofus.' Sayu tapped Light's nose, and he waved her away in irritation.

'Ryuzaki!'

'Oh, yeah. He's this guy I work with. He sort of matches your- _physical_ -description, but he's quiet and sounds slightly disinterested and vaguely condescending at all times.'

'Sayu!' her mother scolded.

'I'm saying it how I see it!'

Light tuned the argument out. Ryuzaki was probably L, but why was he using a different name? He did have the nickname 'Ryuga'-not that Light had ever used it, he liked 'L' too much. Maybe Ryuzaki was just Sayu's version of that?

0o0o0o

'Hey, Light, tell me more about L.' Sayu slid in beside him on the couch, keeping her voice low as to not disturb their parents, who had adjourned to the study after dinner.

'Why?'

'I have taken into careful consideration the sweeping and general description you gave me and decided he's worth a shot.'

'For what?' Light asked, moving over. Sayu seemingly had no idea how to politely ask someone to move.

'For a date!' Sayu rolled her eyes. A funny feeling crawled into Light's stomach.

'You're asking me to describe him so you can decide on whether you want to date him or not?'

'Pretty much. Now, go on.'

Light briefly considered passing L off as bland or boring, but that wouldn't do justice to him. Plus, Light was sure to slip up eventually. Hopefully Sayu was just turned off.

'He's...tall,' Light offered, cringing.

'No, no, no!' Sayu flapped her hands, nearly hitting Light in the face. 'What's his personality?'

'I told you that already,' Light protested.

'Tell me more. Tell me how he talks. How he holds himself.'

And the worst thing was that Light could have talked forever about L, from the growl of his voice to the way he played games. He could have tried to explain who-what-L was and taken hours describing and done little justice. You would have to meet him to understand the way he seemed to have his own gravity, like everybody bowed to the way he controlled the atmosphere and he knew what he could do. And Sayu had never met him.

_How did you explain L Lawliet?_

Of course, Light would rather be shot five or six times than admit any of that. Especially to Sayu.

'He carries himself loosely, but carefully. Like he'd move out of the way of anybody walking towards him, but sort of scare them a bit in the process. Unknowingly.'

'You and your vague explanations again,' Sayu huffed. 'Is he like, the bad-boy type?'

_L, smirking even as he was pressed back against the wall. L, carefully polite at times, like a facade he wanted noticed. L, brushing against him too much and too often to be coincidence. L, all low laughter and teasing smiles_.

'He might be' was all Light managed before the absurdity of the situation crashed in on him. He was sitting on his dad's old black-leather couch, talking to his sister about the most interesting guy he'd ever met, potentially trying to set them up on a date.

_You can't date him, you don't know him!_

And that was when Light caught himself.

'Sorry, I just-talk later, Sayu, I just remembered my appointment with the leadership club at school. Tell Mom and Dad I'm going, okay? Later,' he tossed over his shoulder, running out the door.

He was halfway down the street before he managed to take a full breath.

_L, what have you done? Why am I ridiculously, irrationally, completely jealous of my sister and her innocent questions?_

How did you explain L Lawliet, and the way he pulled you in and made you want to keep him yours and yours alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwing things away must be one of the most momentarily satisfying actions. Why? I'm not really sure. It's cleansing, maybe, in some way that couldn't be avoided by simply avoiding the place it used to rest.
> 
> :: The heaviness in your chest and tingling in your hands when you're almost asleep


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phones, questions, and a few decisions, some more lighthearted than others.

**From: Light**

: I'm calling you.

**From: L**

: I expected a bit of foreplay

L's phone buzzed insistently seconds later. He accepted the call with a chuckle, imagining what Light would have to say. Their conversation was late today, but they were always more interesting this way.

'Are you okay?' The words were out of his mouth before he thought, and he cursed himself.

'I'm fine.' Light offered a small smile. His hands were constantly moving, rubbing at the table, repeating, _tap scratch tap tap._

'Did your sister's meeting not go well?' L caught himself. 'Sorry, I shouldn't be prying…'

'No, it's fine, I'm just…'

They sat in silence for what must have been much shorter than the several hours L felt it to be.

Silence has a habit of making things obvious. The tiny crease in Light's forehead as he stared distractedly at his hands, the tenseness in the bags under his eyes. His angel was tearing himself up inside, trying not to say words in the fear that they wouldn't make everything better like he hoped.

'A bit distracted,' the brunette finished with a smile. 'Don't worry about me, L.'

'Back to our conversation.' Light pointed an accusing finger, smile dancing along his lips. 'You're a dork.'

'And you're a nerd,' L returned.

'You planted a goddamned code and expected me to find it-'

'Which I was right about!' L leaned back in his chair. 'I took a chance and it paid off. Don't look so surprised-I would bet a lot you do it too, don't you, Light-kun?' He hadn't realized they had both leaned closer to their screens. 'Tell me if I'm right, Light-kun. Do you play with people like chess pieces, setting hints they never trace back, sitting back and watching the game unfold?'

Light didn't seem to be able to blink or breathe. 'What if I do?'

'I do too,' L said, so quietly he wasn't sure if it even carried through.

0o0o0o

What if they played games with the people they were surrounded by, setting player against player and player against themselves, just to see who won? What if their boredom drove them inside their heads and back out against, restless fingers and shaking muscles? What if they were looking for someone not to play their game with, but against? Because there were so many pawns and only two kings.

What if this was their game? What was the goal? Because if it was not to get attached, attached in the way that burned if you tried to pull away, attached like animal and parasite (who was which?), then Light knew he was losing. He wouldn't admit it, of course, but he just hoped L couldn't read the truth in his eyes.

If this was their games, did that make them bad, somehow?

Who cared, Light decided. His head was full of sparks and firewood when he was around L, and they caught flame and spilled into the words he spoke.

This was fun. This was a challenge. L was what he hadn't known he'd wanted, and Light certainly wasn't going to let him go.

'You do? Tell me more.' Light made a mockingly inviting gesture, and L sat back in fake surprise, his eyes alive with playful taunts.

It had been a tease; Light hadn't expected L to continue: 'I set clues that people love to think they found themselves. Sometimes it takes a little pushing, but I consider myself an expert.'

'Is that what you did to me with your blog name?'

Light regrets the words that he spoke without thinking with an ache; he wishes he'd never brought the idea to mind. It's not the idea that L's playing with him, no, he loves the idea and has since that first night. It's something else, something the word-obsessed poetry writer in him is horrified at.

'People'; that's it. The idea that he's had others. Played with others- _L is his and his alone to rival!_

L stares at him evenly, the slight graininess of the screen lending an unreadable veil to his eyes.

'No.' There is weariness in the lines of his face, and Light feels suddenly awkward. 'I don't-I wouldn't. Not to you. If I'm testing you, you'll know.'

Light searches those gray eyes for a hint of anything different, but they're simply steady on his.

'I thought it was just sort of a game,' L mutters, seeming embarrassed. Light curses under his breath. Stop jumping to conclusions!

'Sorry,' Light mumbles, keeping his gaze on his hands.

'Kira took down that supposed arsonist yesterday,' L starts hesitantly.

'Right…?'

'He's still in hospital, right? Because he got away with accidental manslaughter or something?'

'Which was idiocy.' Light gives a short laugh. 'I'll never fail to find that you use Kira as your conversation starters amusing, L.'

'I strive to please.'

0o0o0o

L's barely gone two minutes into discussion about the arsonist before he finds himself distracted and losing his train of thought. The entire conversation seems stilted, almost, like they're actors who don't know their lines just well enough, or keep getting derailed and having to pick the scene back up.

Which has never happened to them. They have this bizarre ability to pick up from any point and it never seems awkward.

'L?'

L jumps back to the present, rudely reminded that he had completely forgotten to respond. He isn't even sure what the point was. 'Sorry. I got distracted.'

'Obviously,' Light mutters, but his smile takes any of the bite away. 'So, mind telling me what your thoughts on that sort of infamous news article are? The one that defended in favour of completely innocent?'

'Oh, that one. Sheer advertising genius,' L says fondly.

'What?'

'Had you ever really heard of that newspaper before they put out that article?'

'No, I-'

'Bear with me, angel.' The same reaction as always-a wideness to his eyes, a tiny duck of his head. If L didn't know better, it was like he had a Pavlovian reaction to the nickname (Dangerous for him; never react to humans. Too volatile). 'Did you think about him being ruled innocent before the article?'

'No, and I'm not considering it after, either.'

'But it made you think, didn't it?'

Light frowned and, after a long pause, reluctantly nodded. 'I guess.'

'Then they succeeded,' L says simply.

Light shrugs good-naturedly.

'Fine. I'll submit to the capitalist overlords.'

'Just a bit of very basic psychology. I know all sorts of tricks. Maybe I'll teach you.'

'No Jedi mind manipulation or anything?' Light asked, grinning.

'Nerd!' L yells victoriously. 'You are a complete, utter, total ne-'

'Shut up!' His smile nearly takes L's breath away.

This is the type of conversation they should be having. This is the kind of teasing he loves and lives for; this is the kind that matches the bare remains of sunlight teasing Light's hair into gold.

'I will prove your nerdiness one day, angel,' L warns holding up a warning finger. 'Under whatever polished-schoolboy mask you're trying to do, you are a nerd who likes Star Wars and other typically geeky things, like codes.'

'Try me. Dork.'

0o0o0o

A few minutes later, Light's phone buzzing the 'low-battery' warning nearly scares them both out of their wits.

'What kind of godforsaken surface did you place that phone on?!' L demands.

'Just my table!'

'Well, you're getting a new one.'

'Now? Just for the phone?' Light raises an eyebrow; that 'how-dramatic' look.

'Yes.' To back down is weakness.

'You're very extreme,' Light chuckles. Suddenly, L's view of the room is flipped and he's staring at the ceiling. 'I'm just going to bring the phone up to my room, Mr. Scared-By-Sound,' Light warns a few seconds too late.

Light's phone complains again halfway up the stairs, causing another string of irritated swears to erupt from the phone in his hand.

Dork.

'Hold on, I'm almost there.' Light pushes open his door and heads for his desk. 'Better?' he asks, once he's set the phone down.

'Well, we'll have to wait for the next ala-' The buzz cuts him off halfway through his sentence, and somehow, his desk resonates even worse than the flimsy white Ikea table downstairs.

After he's stopped laughing at L's scandalized expression, Light moves to his bed and settles down.

'Is this satisfactory, Your Highness?'

'It's better than whatever excuse for tables and desks you have scattered around you-is that more poetry I see on your desk?'

'No!' Light blushes and chances a look at it. Of course, there's no chance of moving it now.

'So you just write all your math homework in...sonnet form, is that right?'

'Shut up. It's English homework.'

'EVen if that was true, it doesn't change the fact that it's poetry you wrote and never posted because I know there isn't any sonnets on your aesthetic-filled blog…'

'I hate you.'

'You love me,' L corrected casually, realizing what he'd said a moment too late. Always. This always happened. _Why can't I think before I speak around him, it's ridiculous_. Face burning, he chanced a look up to a smirking Light.

'Tell yourself what you want.'

L was saved from answering (probably with all the wrong words) by another buzz from Light's phone.

'Thing's dying,' the brunette muttered obviously. 'I should go hunt down my charger, and I should really stop making you blush and trip over your words like a lovestruck schoolgirl before you faint.'

'I am not a schoolgirl-'

'You are, Lawliet. Goodnight.' Light winked and mouthed 'schoolgirl' one last time before ending the call.

'If I am a schoolgirl, you are the drama kid who takes the roles too seriously,' L muttered. 'Goodnight, you damned infuriating nerd.'

0o0o0o

Two hours, a snack, and a failed attempt at considering going to bed later, L was sitting in front of his computer again, trying to write an email. Another email. Another stupid, pointless email to his family that was just going to end up in the Drafts section like all the others he'd never managed to press Send on.

**To: M, N, W, one other**

**From: L**

**Subject:**

That was as far as he got for what seemed like forever. It always started with him not knowing what to say, and then having too much.

_I'm glad to be out-_

No decent human being would convict a seventeen-year-old to death-

All erased. They didn't work; he could already hear Mihael's laughter.

_And we're pretty happy about having you out, too..._

_But you're not a 'decent human being', are you?_

He was always the best at targeting where L hurt most. Any tiny vulnerability and he'd take it. It was almost impressive.

Ridiculously, L wanted to write about Light and everything he didn't understand that was going on. But the words wouldn't form the right shapes.

_How did you explain the way that I really do believe he's different, that I don't know how to convince the rest of me that he is, the side that wants just another 'just for tonight'? Or that quitting that homicide case three years ago was what I'm afraid was my only good choice I've ever made? Because whatever choice Light is, I chose him and I'm thinking he's the dangerous kind._

A blank message with just a few names and nothing else. Just like every other draft message in the end. He kept them as a sort of diary, seeing what times he'd thought it was a good idea to contact the family business.

He could write so many things. He could move barely a hand and ask for his life back. He could tell about everything that had happened and wait for their comments. He could just send a single word, as innocent as 'So' and they'd count it as a victory.

_'Go ahead, run away, we'll see how long it takes before you come crawling back! I give you two weeks, Lawliet. Two weeks of trying to manage without the only people who would accept you.'_

'I give myself three years and four days,' L said, and pressed 'Send' on the blank message.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like imagining things more than seeing them. I see the physical flaws and ways the image didn’t translate through onto the paper right. 
> 
> I would rather read it than watch it on the big screen. It’s alien, realized like that. 
> 
> But you know what they say about life and movies.
> 
> :: Paper taped to things, under tables, with notes to the universe written on them


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of depression in this chapter.
> 
> Light wakes up, L is awkward in social situations.

Strange. He'd expected them to reply instantly. There was no way Matt's network hadn't picked up on that message by now, and that redhead could compose, edit, and send a reply faster than most people could open a browser.

Of course, they were probably making him wait. Laughing to themselves at how increasingly on edge he would grow with each passing minute, hour, day.

Which he would. The message would be humming at the back of his mind until they finally decided to let him down and gave a response. All L hoped right now was that they were still as easily bored as everyone in that profession always was.

_Dear angel, I think I've made a mistake. I wouldn't call you about it, though, because your words would rush like fire through me and twist my mind and soon I'd be breaking rules and collapsing from exhaustion and laughter._

_You're such a bad influence on me, and God knows I am on you._

0o0o0o

It always started after he got out of bed. Without exception, Light would find himself wanting more than anything to stop moving when he was.

Sometimes it was in the middle of the day, when he'd just realize how tired he was, when it took everything he had to keep going through with his lessons. Sometimes it was when he got home with the sunlight in the windows and throw his homework on the table and collapse into bed, guilty and knowing the panic he'd feel tomorrow when he scrambled to finish it and yet too drained to try now. Or in the middle of the night, when he pretended he was asleep. Sometimes in the morning, when he was just standing in his little kitchen at the awful white cardboard IKEA table, cupping a mug of tea that was going cold. Those were the worst times, because he could tell himself that he didn't need to go. He didn't need to do anything that day, because people didn't give a second look if you said you were sick. Nobody would question it if he came back the next day quieter but otherwise healthy.

None of that mattered right now, though, because Light was five days into the fourteen of his summer break before his night classes picked back up, with regular semesters not far behind. He could sit at that horrible table with the slick, coffee-stained top with some tea in the morning and then sleep for the rest of the day. But first:

**From: Light**

: I might not show up tonight. I woke up sick. I'll call you if I can make it.

**From: L**

: Don't push yourself. I don't want you to get worse.

**From: Light**

: I have no idea why this happens. I'll be perfectly fine for a while and then wake up and not do anything for a day.

**From: L**

: Don't worry about it. Get better soon.

_Normally I'd want to talk forever, but I'm not going to be good at conversing right now._

And Light knew he should get a glass of water or some food at the very least, but he just curled up in the blankets and stayed there motionless and unfortunately awake. Everything took too long and also blurred by too fast, and he just stood in the middle, trying to ignore all of it.

_I hope he thought I meant a cold or a headache or something._

0o0o0o

Matsuda was chattering on about some inane new showing of his pop idol. Working in the early morning and late night was both a blessing and a curse. Not many customers were around, but L was also dead tired and felt deprived of coffee no matter how many cups he drank.

He shouldn't complain. The job was decent, once you got past the people, and it's not like he had much better options.

'Do you know Light well?' Matsuda suddenly asked.

'This is sudden.' L frowned at the floor. 'He's an acquaintance, you could say.'

'Sayu said that he was talking about some guy a lot recently and that it might have been you.'

'I doubt it's me.' L abruptly turned away and hastily rearranged a few boxes in order to fit a few more items onto the already overstuffed shelf he had been lingering over.

'I don't know who else would give an instantaneous, in-depth psychological profile of a serial killer,' Matsuda joked.

'People fascinated by serial killers are apparently rated 70 percent better conversationalists,' L pointed out.

'Even if you were, you must be the 30 percent that isn't.' Matsuda grinned and elbowed L in the side.

'That's not how 'rated 70 percent better' works-oh, forget it.'

They work in quiet for a few more seconds.

'You never really answered my question. Which seems to be a common habit with you, Ryuzaki,' Matsuda points out.

'It wasn't a question.'

'Did you psychologically profile Kira for Light?'

_I never thought I'd hear a sentence like that again_. 'No.'

'Alright.' Matsuda smiled and turned back to his work.

_'You lie as easily as you speak, because your own fabrications are the only words that ever pass your lips_ ,' Nate had accused him, face contorted with anger moments before it melted into a sweet smile. ' _Please, teach me.'_

0o0o0o

Light had managed to down a dose of the antidepressants on his bathroom counter and eaten a handful of food earlier on. It was just a regular type of 'that' day (if you could call it 'regular'), and not the kind where he felt like he was drowning, but so slowly that it hurt more.

Light asked himself if he was willing to do anything and decided that he wasn't averse enough to justify not trying to study. With a sigh, he dragged over his math textbook. Math. Full of calculations with hard, sharp, clear edges, edges that would cut through the haze in his head. That, or get lost in it. He'd have to see.

There really wasn't a 'maybe' in math. In pre-answered questions. In the controlled environment of the system he knew better than anyone. Even with other people, if you knew them well enough.

'Maybes' happened with people who were wild cards. People who played games on the same level you did, people who could tell you stories to distract you from all the things they hid.  _Fascinating_  people, like L, like nobody else.

L had 'maybes' and not-really-answered questions and laughter in half-true confessions. He was nothing like the questions Light relied on. If he had edges, they were indistinguishable from his eyes and hands or hidden underneath his words.

Light found himself smiling.  _I have no idea how to handle you_ …

0o0o0o

**From: L**

: You better?

**From: Light**

: I'm doing math.

**From: L**

: ...so is that a yes or a no

L could practically hear his laugh.

**From: Light**

: I think it's a yes.

**From: L**

: I have no idea how doing math makes you feel better

**From: L**

: It's honestly quite boring to me. All the preassigned questions and everything

**From: Light**

: I find it comforting.

**From: L**

: You could have researched for years and not have found a single thing that was more nerdy to say

**From: Light**

: Just because you're some sort of brilliant edgy bad-boy doesn't mean the rest of us are.

**From: L**

: I thought I was a 'dork'?

**From: Light**

: That too. You're a dork who does inspirational quotes over ocean scenes and somehow still thinks he can pull off the edgy bad-boy look.

**From: L**

: You wound me

**From: Light**

: Someone needs to.

**From: L**

: So vicious, little angel.

**From: L**

: As long as you're sure you're okay, I'll meet you in a few minutes?

**From: Light**

: Yeah. I might be a few minutes late, but yeah.

**From: L**

: I'll wait for you.

0o0o0o

Light took a few deep breaths before checking the mirror and walking out before he could think too much about the decision. Normally, it was just him thinking too much that hindered...well, a lot of things. Overthinking logic problems, analyzing things that had no significance, obsessing over other people's flippant remarks.

_Am I thinking too much about L?_

Light managed a short chuckle _. Of him, just of him, oh, definitely. Of what every word he says means, of what he's thinking of me and my actions?_

_Strangely, no. I just forget to do that around him. I think about it later, yes, losing sleep over things that I barely thought before saying earlier._

_I happen to lose sleep over you in purposes I wouldn't admit. God, L, if only you knew._

When Light arrived, he had barely unzipped his jacket before the barista pointed him towards the back.

'He's waiting for you.'

'L?'

'Is that his name? Well, whoever he is, he's the other half of your little pair. The one with dark hair. Bad posture. Apparently subsists entirely on sweets?'

'That's L,' Light have a tiny sigh of relief, feeling the knot of nervousness in his chest loosen a bit. What he had even been nervous of, he wasn't sure. 'Back table?'

'Where else do you two go?'

Online blogs and sidewalks with grass growing through the cracks and spaces where you can see suspended, human-made stars.

Light smiled and walked towards the back, automatically now. Places just for us, I guess.

'So, you made it.' L looked up from his phone with a grin. 'Are you feeling okay?'

'I promised. As for health? I'm managing. It's not so bad right now, though I can't promise for tomorrow.' I can never promise for tomorrow, or even an hour ahead. I can promise to myself in the moment to just keep breathing and that is all.

'As long as you're…' He stopped suddenly, frowning. 'Did you sleep at all last night?'

'What?'  _I don't know_. 'Yeah, why?'

'You…' L pulled his hand back with a short, awkward laugh. 'Look like me?' With a grimace, he pointed to the circles under his eyes.

Light's hands automatically rose to cover the marks before he could stop them.

'Probably just from my headache.'

'About that-no, sorry, I should drop the subject. So…?'

'I swear to God, if you start another conversation with the Kira Case, I will send you to a 'How to converse' class,' Light threatened.

'Warning heeded. So, have you...how was your math homework?'

'You are socially inept, L Lawliet,' Light groaned. 'It was fine. I solved problems. Did mathematical things.'

Silence.

'Should I just go back to talking about serial killers?'

'Yes, please.'

0o0o0o

'Botulinum takes anywhere from eighteen to-I think it was thirty-two?-hours to start showing symptoms. That leaves a lot of time for the victim to get away from the crime scene and for the 'range' to be more spread out, but there are slower-acting poisons, so I'm guessing that there's some sort of symbolic attachment to Kira's choice.'

'For the victim to get away, and not the killer?'

L winked. 'You caught that, sharp. Kira does seem like the kind to operate out of one or two-more likely one-bases and not actively stalk victims.'

'What would the symbolism be, though…' L barely stopped himself from chewing on his nails, a bad habit he'd almost kicked.

'Well, it's a common drug used in Botox injections and the such. And Kira is trying to rid the world of criminals, maybe to make a perfect one? And nobody he's targeted so far has survived. He's a perfectionist.'

'Hey! No using your phone! That's cheating!' L glares at the brunette, who grinned and leaned forward.

Brilliant smile, words like wildfire. 'Darling, it's only cheating if you get caught before it's _done_.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anyone who can change their opinion exactly like they say they can. I certainly can't; for once I'm not the hypocrite. They change it too easily, or never at all, or slowly, and then they won't admit it. I do all of the above.
> 
> :: Falling asleep with something in your hands, maybe something you worry you would break


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L has a challenge he can’t focus on.

_Why, because you trust yourself to lie your way out of the act in the aftermath because all your pawns are in order? This really is just a stage play to you; you know your lines by heart._

_I hope this isn't our final act together. I hope the stage is enjoyable. You command it very well._

'What, you're not afraid of documents, comments jotted in the margins of a test sheet, even an accidental bystander? Records of you being less than licit?'

'I lie to them too well beforehand, so they wouldn't dare think I could be doing anything but perfection.' Light's hands twitched on the table when he spoke. Maybe excitement, maybe fear.

'You put so much and yet so little trust in everyone,' L noted. 'Though I assume you trust me?' It came out as more of a question than he would have liked.

'I've given you enough pieces of me to have to.'

The drawstrings were uneven again, and Light was pulling on the ends. L reached across and fixed them, pausing a moment to gently twist the end around his finger and ask, 'Have to trust me now or had before?'

Light's eyes were steady. 'Had before.'

'You didn't have a reason to,' L pointed out, but his chest was warming.

'I didn't need one. Fascinating people don't need trust to get into my head.'

'That's a very dangerous rule, angel,' L breathed. 'Fascinating people are always the most dangerous.'

'Why do you think I love them?'

_Why do you think I love them?_ Such an innocent sentence shouldn't be spoken in that tone, L thought to himself. Of course, everything they had was built on innocent words spoken in less-than tones, and it made for an interesting act. Of all the people he could have chanced upon, Light was going to be a wonderful mistake.

0o0o0o

They never seemed to have awkward or truly peaceful silences. More amused, or anticipation-filled, like the teasing 'come-closer' motion an old enemy makes when they still clutch their weapon too tightly. That, or they lost themselves in talking about everything and nothing. That was okay. It was better-different, at least-than normal.

Light's phone buzzes insistently, and he grabbed for it with irritation. If it was Sayu…

'Hello?' he snapped.

'Hey, Light!' Of course it was Sayu. 'So, have you met your mysterious L again?' she asked, her voice carrying through the speaker. Light cupped a hand around the phone to muffle the noise.

'Yes.' No need to mention that he was sitting across the table at this very moment, having hurriedly released his hoodie drawstrings again.

'Great. So, next time you see him, put in a good word for me, alright?' Sayu asked, her voice falsely casual and still loud.

I would die of embarrassment. 'Sure,' Light lied, now just eager to get off the phone and bury the memory of the conversation. 'Now, I'm busy. I'll call later if you need. Bye.'

L is staring at him with an expression of slight disbelief and amusement. 'Please don't tell me that was Sayu Yagami.'

'You know her?' Light imagined them meeting just like him and L, sharing things like this kind of conversat-

He stopped and tried to reconsider. 'How?'

'She's a coworker. I assume she knows me as...Ryuzaki.'

'As Ryuzaki?' Light demanded.

'It's my middle name.'

'Coworker? I thought you did accounting.'

'I did. I got...kicked out. Recently.'

'Why?'

_Because I was reckless and foolish and human, and they hated that._

'I ended up disagreeing with enough of my colleagues about how things should be run that eventually they...' L shrugged. 'I was working the other thing for a while in order to get out of the building. Desk work, you know.'

_You don't need to know that it happened three years ago. You don't need to know that the accounts I kept were on human lives. You don't need to know that I left of my own accord rather than sentence another might-be-innocent to death with my deductions. You don't need to know that I lie about things, because they are simple and small and your eyes are tired even when you smile tonight._

_You don't need the knowledge that I can't cut ties as well as I told myself. You don't need to think about me as a failed detective or worse yet, a successful one. Maybe you'll know one day, but my lies keep you happier than if I told the truth, and I hate the pain you must feel._

_I want you to stay happy, my brilliant angel, and if it takes me hiding and running to make that happen, so be it._

0o0o0o

'Do I get another piece tonight?' L asked almost shyly, but the glint in his eyes told differently.

'Mmm, you'll have to coax it out of me,' Light teased. A glance at the barista, who was luckily standing at a different table, told him he should probably not do anything too obviously. 'Here, let's go outside.'

The air hadn't lost the soaking sunshine that had seeped into every crevice of August, but it was crisper and played with the ends of hair.

'It's a clear night,' Light noted with a grin. 'You can see all the stars. This isn't the best spot, but it's passable.'

L looked towards the city, to the lights that never went out. 'It is' was all he could think of to say.

'Well, I'll see you...Wednesday, maybe?' Light asks casually, not even bothering to turn around a last time before he started walking.

'You didn't…' L pauses, shakes his head, tries to make a logical conclusion without spitting the answer out when it's barely formed in his head like he always does around Light. 'Is this revenge for my little blog test?'

'I'm still not over that,' Light calls back. The wind twists the ends of his hair and they catch the sun, bringing out the highlights. A few errant locks are stuck in his sweater hood, and L wants to run after him to fix them, brush his hair back around his neck, stand there for a few extra seconds and just stare.

'Text me when you've figured it out,' the brunette challenges. 'And only then.'

'So I don't get to see you?'

'Call it motivation,' Light says with a teasing smile before turning and walking away.

At the last second, he turns around and smiles, mouths something that might be ' _It's my turn to test you_ ' but might also be ' _I'll be waiting for you_.'

_Damn_ him; L can't even try to figure out what Light's meaning him to do with him doing...everything he does. A cold shower at home will have to clear his head.

'I'll meet you,' L mumbles. 'If it kills me.'

0o0o0o

L spends too long that night deviating from his actual goals: figuring out what Light wants him to do. In all honesty, he hasn't spent more than thirty seconds on the problem in hours. His mind is wild and erratic, jumping from problem to problem, noticing and gathering information and not processing any of it. The easiest explanation would be to say he was tired, to hope he could pass out under too many blankets before his thoughts got too deep.

There must be a thumbprint worn into the handle of the cup he's handling. Every so often, the cold tea inside sloshes, prompting L to take a sip as he stares out the window, lazily observing the process of the constellations and moon.

He is doing nothing, really, nothing to occupy the energy he can't show or force to work, but his shoulders are relaxed and his breathing is deeper than it normally is, so he takes these moments to relax and think about everything and nothing.

Everything and nothing; that's what their conversations are about. The world and themselves, not necessarily in that order.

That's what makes their exchanges so addictive, him so much so.

'I hate you,' L mutters, a smile on his lips. 'Everything was so much easier before you.' He set down his cup, fiddled with a stray pencil on his table, flipping it through his fingers like the card trick. His mind seemed determined not to let him focus. He really needed to just pass out cold on the closest surface; this kitchen table would work fine. But there was only one way he knew how to do that-getting drunk until he couldn't see straight and all his organized, controlled, suppressed thoughts scrambled-and he'd never do that again. The pills would work for tonight, and as long as he stayed very quiet, it would almost be like he was asleep and didn't have to try to do anything.

Plus, hangovers ruled out 'coherent thought processes' for a day at the least. L needed to fall asleep and wake up not tired and weary and wondering if today would be the day he was too tired to function.

The answer should have been easy.

0o0o0o

_He'll text when he's figured it out_ , Light thought. _Unless he got distracted or something. I don't know what's keeping him. He's a genius; he should have no problem finding the answer._

_Did I make it too hard?_

_No, I doubt anything is too hard for him._

With an aggravated groan, Light tipped his chair back and stared at the ceiling _._ If L didn't figure it out by Wednesday, Light would have to seriously recalculate his opinion of him, he thought in a half-joking way.

'When you've gotten your act together and figured out where I'm going to be waiting, L…' he mumbled, standing up and turning towards his bedroom, 'feel free to call.'

L didn't call all night. Not even an anonymous ask on the blog, which Light really expected of him. Stubborn bastard; he'd run himself into the ground before admitting defeat in any way.

That was admirable in it's own way, if Light was being perfectly honest. Someone who wouldn't back down. Someone who would do anything to prove a point or win a fight; not for anyone else, but for their own sense of self.

_Is that your weakness, L? The chink in your armor of careless gestures and words and smiles? What could I see if it was all peeled away, I wonder…_

Light fiddled with a bite of his breakfast and let himself imagine. At first, he couldn't think of anything that wasn't so dramatically...L. Who else, what else could he even be? Assuming there was even something else, but Light had a feeling there was. At the very least, a few secrets.

Someone soft and shy, with the naivete that sometimes struggled to show through the cynical, jaded-to-the-world shield? Someone who would allow a gentle smile at the sight of elderly couples in the park or a laughing child sprawled on the grass.

Someone who laughed, easier, louder, more freely. Truly, with the kind of gasping howl that came when you were beside yourself.

Or someone sadder, who looked at city lights and scanned each pinprick of neon like they were wondering, or looking for someone.

_I have this feeling, L, that you've shown me more than you ever meant to. More than anyone else, and you aren't sure why, but you keep doing it. So would that mean that I know you better than anyone else, and yet I still can't figure you out._

_It's to be expected; I think that if you were to tell me everything, show me the depths of the universe you've trapped inside that genius head of yours, I'd go insane._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have time for things like this. They have never worried about their lives in segments between their last war. They have no reason to. 
> 
> :: Accidentally bending the corner of a book because you set it down wrong, and then the crease won't come out


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L finally figures it out, Light is inscrutable at first, and it’s the ambiance that really counts.

Anything was better than the sheer disarray of last night. It wasn't just then, either. It was the corroded aftermath every time they met, clashes, threw sparks of laughter and jokes that strayed too close to real life. The act was ecstasy in its purest form, but the melted afterglow was so much worse.

Maybe it wasn't even that his thoughts grew more tangled, that he couldn't focus. Maybe it was because in contrast, he was in his element before. Who would want to return to Earth if they'd had a taste of heaven?

Or several, having caught a falling angel and taking them at their leisure. You would taste again and again, trying to forget that they couldn't really take you to their world.

_Close your eyes, you can imagine and they are enough to convince you._

A weird, heavy sort of wanting, liking, really. That was what he could describe them as. Light was the most intriguing, the most fascinating person L had ever met by a long shot. And if he had to go through disorganized thoughts and chaos, reeling in the backlash every time they met, it was a price well worth the prize.

Enough about old thoughts and feelings. He already did enough of that in his sleep, L thought with a sort of smile. With a sigh, he dredged up every memory of their conversation. The hint was probably placed in that very last ' _Let's go outside_ ' exchange. How did he put it? Light was an amazing strategist. L could tell just from the way he chose his words (so careful, so smooth, so used to getting whatever he wanted from teachers and parents and everybody else), but there was an obvious difference between those words he'd recited on their first night and now.

He had learned spontaneity, and he was so much more fun now.

'Not that you were ever boring before,' L mumbled, idly waiting for the kettle to heat. 'I thought I had you figured out. I thought you were like an incredibly complex and terrifying problem. Nobody would dare to try to solve you. But once someone knew your pattern, your programming, what made you tick? You were gone.'

'And now…' L picked up the nearest package, pulled out a tea bag. 'You're really full of numbers that don't exist, or run so far they defy existence.' The kettle complained loudly. 'You're really…unsolvable, Light-kun.' L dropped the tea bag in and sipped, nearly laughing when he realized it was green tea. Light's favourite. After a long silence, L continued: 'I guess I'll have to try to solve you, even though I couldn't. You're impossible.'

0o0o0o

L balanced the tea on his book as he went back upstairs, finally settling down at his desk. This was the best type of morning, when he had work later instead of this unholy hour, and he could just sit and read a book and maybe make a cup of tea. He'd read this book before, several times, and now it was more just a comfort read than actually getting into the story. _Light, I wonder if you'd get that. Or, really, if you even have time to relax._

'I still need to…!' L realized, tossing his book aside. 'It should not take me this long,' he muttered, pulling a pencil closer by the eraser and sketching idly on the tabletop. Diamonds, triangles, hourglasses, a geometric spiderweb all in perfect, clean lines. The pattern covered the pale gray surface like an odd growth, occasionally interrupted by a scribbled quote or random thought.

How did one figure something out? What did they look like? L's deductions either came naturally or not at all, and this infuriatingly simple problem kept falling into the latter category. With a groan, L leaned over to retrieve his book and hoped that something would hit him if he wasn't so...distracted by other parts of Light.

He just couldn't focus, like he was drained and exhausted and yet wired and wanting to do something, anything.

L scanned the shapes of the words, more observing the familiar tone and phrasing than anything else. However, it was always hard not to get at least a little bit drawn into these pages. That, irrationally and inexplicably, was why he suddenly sat up and said, 'The place we met by accident while walking. I'm an idiot.'

With a quiet curse at his inability to realize it sooner, L keyed in his answer to the messages app and was about to hit Send before he hesitated. What if it was wrong? There would be no penalty for anything incorrect, so he should be fine with just trusting his deductions. They'd never failed him before-well, mostly, and matters closer to the heart were always so much softer and more sensitive to accidental scratches.

It was good enough.

**From: L**

: The place I ran into you when we were walking? The place we could see the city?

His answer took a strangely long time.

**From: Light**

: Took you long enough.

**From: L**

: Blame me being tired and not your actually-quite-easy riddle

**From: Light**

: Is that a challenge?

**From: L**

: Only if you take it that way. You seem to take everything as a challenge, angel

**From: Light**

: Well, that's definitely a challenge. Or an insult. Or another one of your inept attempts at a joke. Do you know the difference between the three, L?

**From: L**

: So you did take it as a challenge! I do love seeing you so worked up

**From: Light**

: Answer me, you dork.

**From: L**

: In theory, they are exactly the same thing when applied with the right tone

**From: Light**

: You're unbelievable sometimes.

**From: L**

: I like to think that I'm fairly unbelievable most of, if not all of the time

**From: Light**  

: You seriously need someone to rein in your ego every once in a while.

**From: L**

: Need? No. Want? Even less. Do I get one anyways, who manifests in the form of a nerdy teenager with a secret poetry kink? I'll leave that to you.

**From: Light**

: There is so much wrong with that sentence.

**From: L**

: Whatever do you mean?

**From: Light**

: I'm twenty, first off. And I don't have a poetry kink.

**From: L**

: Tell that to the sonnet on your desk. It's still there, isn't it?

**From: Light**

: No, I handed in that math homework, L.

**From: L**

: You'll never stop lying once you think you still have a chance, do you? As long as there's a fighting chance, and probably even if there isn't, you'll keep playing. That's one of the reasons I love you.

A silence, interrupted by occasional '...' signs that flashed up and disappeared just as quickly. Light was rapidly composing and discarding messages. It stretched on, and L disjointedly noted that he hadn't slipped up before. Who could have blamed him if he had, though? Light dragged the truth out of him as easily as other people forced him to lie.

**From: Light**

: It's been how long and I still don't know whether you're insulting me, aggravating me, or telling the truth at any given moment.

**From: L**

: In all honesty, neither do I.

That was the easy answer. Good.

**From: Light**

: Then I'll go with the easiest decision for both of us and say that it's all three this time.

_What?_

**From: Light**

: I'll meet you Wednesday. Goodnight.

**From: L**

: It's eight in the morning.

**From: Light**

: It's the ambiance that counts, darling.

His notebook icon slid off the screen and L struggled with the emotions of the last few minutes, finally scrolling back up to reread.

' _Damn_ you,' he finally laughed, an odd cocktail of confusion, nervousness, and mind-numbing anticipation settling in the tips of his fingers. 'I'm the only one who's allowed to say pet names and run away.'

0o0o0o

' _That's one of the reasons I love you_.'

What part of that sentence was most terrifying, confusing, evoked the best and worst response? Light shuffled the words around in his mind like he would a sentence written in a different language, picking out the few phrases he recognized as his cornerstones and building a strange little world out from there.

One of? Reasons? Or the word he wouldn't touch, love. His fingers barely brushed the edges before he pulled away in case it would burn him. Who even knew if it would? It made him feel like it was setting off a sensation in his chest that felt like close-together, wildly flapping bird wings.

But if he could imagine (he could, as long as nobody saw).

People always warned him it would hurt, it would burn, it would leave ashy handprints all over his heart. That didn't sound too bad. Permanent marks. Permanent reminders, on his heart, too, of something they would love to say.

God, it'd be...indescribable.

They'd joked about it before. L's casual, playful comment-' _You love me_ '-as an example. But that was...well, it felt different.

'I could live with it if you said it like that again,' Light whispered to himself. Terror and enthrallment jumped through him in equal doses, despite the fact that he was alone and there was nobody who would ever know.

When did joking about that and sending texts that might be flirting become their normal? It hadn't been like that the first night, had it?

Well, maybe it had been. For L, at the very least. He was shameless, really, and somehow careless in a coldly calculated way, and cunning and a whole bunch of other things that maybe weren't always seen as good. Not bad, but not good. More bad than good. A gray area, a gray area the exact colour of his sparkling eyes.

Light couldn't stop himself from smiling. Whatever gray sort of morality L played in-nobody who talked about Kira with that nearly crazed excitement could see the world in black and white-it was a world Light was fully willing to be led into, to jump into, to fall into.

_Show me your world, L. Who knows? Maybe I'll still turn into a gibbering mess when you show me the depths, but the journey there will be worth it._

_You're worth-your mind is worth-the insane price I could have to pay_.

0o0o0o

Wednesday was an awfully long way away. However long Light wanted to make him wait before coming back and answering a few questions through however he started the conversation was an indefinite measure, and therefore longer.

That was cold, hard logic. Light would have gotten there (and then explained it in a way that somehow made it interesting, though that might just be his voice).

'You are getting better with spontaneity.' L pushed his chair back from the table. 'I'd love to see you lose control, though. What do you get worked up over? What do you talk about until you're out of breath and shouting and your heart races at every sentence?'

The wind outside was swirling softly at his feet; still hot and slow, but promising. His jacket was more of a formality, but it obscured the bony, too-tall angles of his body and the collar hid his collarbones, and even in August, that was good.

'I wonder what you'd look like. What you'd sound like. You're already so fiery and absorbed into your topic.' L checked his pockets reflexively as he stepped onto the curb, but his phone was at home. 'I'm almost scared to see what you think is impassioned.'

_Where am I going? Nowhere, probably. I just wanted to get out_.

The sky was cloudless.

'Almost, angel. The fascination outweighs the fear. Hopefully it'll stay that way.'

_The easy answer, huh. I don't think that was easy, or even just hedging your bets_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all reality, I could imagine seeing this version of them and not having them linger in my head like the canon. This time, they're just for each other and it doesn't spill over. I guess you could say they’re more of a quiet thing?
> 
> :: Being half-asleep and barely waking up to adjust


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L works at the grocery store and it ends up being tolerable for everyone for the first time in a while.

A magpie hopped from branch to branch, it's tail flicking to keep the swaying twig steady. L paused to watch, not absorbing the sight so much as setting it as the backdrop to his thoughts. Watari had taught him to do that. Apart from the practicality of being able to observe while breaking down a problem, the act was oddly soothing and kept him detached from the actual problem. That was better, they had said. If you were playing the game as a piece, even if you were a king, you never saw the whole board. You couldn't really _play_ , per se, just act out directions. You were just a glorified pawn.

Call Wammy's House what you will, but they intended the best. They elevated prodigies beyond anything they could have achieved on their own. Everybody who came out played the game from a different angle. The nearly foolproof, winning angle; the distant, removed, boring angle.

There was always the noticeable ones. You sometimes got the killer who taunted the detective instead of the police, or the one who left clues as a hint to who they were, not where they'd be next. The ones who looked up from the chessboard, you could call them. But they were always beaten in the end, their place handed off to the next and the pieces put back the way they always were (All his 'clients' were the same, stripped down to their basest form. If he acted one way, they reacted another with disturbing predictability).

(And of all the people he'd challenged and become disillusioned with in the end...

_The first one he'd picked up, the one he'd noticed across a smoky bar, back when he was raw and red and fresh from running away. Black hair, interested eyes, delicate hands._

_'You look like you could relive the monotony here. Talk?' he'd asked._

_'Anybody who spends their time waiting for someone else in a place like this isn't worth a conversation.'_

Light had been the first time he'd spoken first.)

This world was full of a thousand million slightly different handshakes and introductions, and it was new and more than a little frightening and it somehow had caught an angel who swept the pieces off the chessboard and hissed, 'We're going to play a different game.'

Who cares if he would have been a good opponent? He was wasted on a game with calculatable endings.

0o0o0o

His sister was always energetic and optimistic, and normally Light would have refrained from calling on a day like this, when he was still tired over the world. However, their exchanges were predictable and took little effort, and she was as good of a confidant than anyone, and his mind was still twisted up over L's words and he might go insane if he stared out the window and thought any more, so he called Sayu.

'Hey, Sayu.'

'Light! How have you been?' she answered enthusiastically.

'Pretty good. It's been quiet here.'

Sayu didn't respond for a few seconds before asking softly, 'Light, is it…'

'I don't know what causes them,' Light protested weakly, feeling helpless. His parents typically tried to step around the topic. He wouldn't ever tell anyone else. Why else did he pick up the medicine from the Quik-E Mart nobody else went to? Sayu was his confidant, and they had grown a lot closer because of that.

'I didn't say you did. It's not your fault. Stuff just happens,' Sayu soothed.

'I guess. I'd rather have some cause, then I could fix it…' Light fiddled with his sweater.

'You'll be okay, big bro,' the girl said. Across the line, a bed rustled.

'Eventually.' Light scrambled for something else to say and landed on what he'd really been trying to avoid. 'Hey, about L.'

'Yeah?'

He's mine, not because you've never met him or because the words 'That's one of the reasons I love you' are still hovering in the tips of my fingers, but because I want him like anyone wants a break from running. I could keep going without his smile and his teasing and the look in his eyes when he thinks about fascinating things, but I don't want to and no sane human would. 'You still hung up on...you know?'

'Maybe,' Sayu sighed. 'Honestly, if I don't meet him soon, it'll fizzle out.'

Light felt strangely calm. 'He's your co-worker. He told me. Ryuzaki is his middle name.'

'What?' Sayu groaned, but the sound fell into a laugh. 'I had my suspicions. Your description of his personality was way off, though.'

'No, it wasn't,' Light corrected without a thought.

'Uhh, yes it was?' Sayu relaxed into her bed. Light thought she was taking it surprisingly well. 'He's sarcastic and slightly condescending, but in a harmless way.' She paused. 'Unless he acts completely, and I do mean completely, different around you.' A horribly smug note of interest coloured her voice.

'He wouldn't have any reason to do that,' Light protested.

'You were talking to him about the Kira Case, and he seemed fairly invested in that,' Sayu pointed out. 'It's either just a common-interests thing or that he's interested in you.'

'What?' Light flashed back to that text, that goddamned infuriating text; it wasn't ever going to leave his head until he got an explanation. '...Do you mean by that,' he finished hastily, in an attempt to sound less like a teenager accused of being in love.

'How many times have you met up with him?' Sayu asked, her amusement poorly concealed. 'You've mentioned twice. Must have been a third with all the 'Yes, I'm your little sister's coworker' thing. And you aren't ever the kind to jump from polite news to details like that in three short discussions about a case. I'm pegging you at four, maybe five meetings, twenty minutes or more each? And I'm going to hazard a guess that you barely mentioned the Kira Case. Light, that sounds a lot like-'

'Don't say it!' Light had been repressing the word, too; it had been stuck tickling the inside of his ribs since the first time he'd asked ' _Saturday?_ '.

Sayu hummed, satisfied. 'You're awfully defensive, big bro. I knew all your snarky comments about whichever pop idol I used to like meant something.'

'Hey! Sayu, I-'

'But hey,' she continued, 'if you're not going to take him, give him to me. Cynical, insufferable bastard or not, he's _hot_.' With a giggle and a smirk Light could practically hear, she hung up with a cheery 'Later!'

Light stared at the 'Your partner has disconnected' message for a few seconds before shoving the phone away from him and burying his face in his hands.

What part of that conversation should he break down first? It had started well enough, but mentioning L was just the gateway to every sort of emotional hell his sister could unleash.

_What were the basic points_ , Light asked himself, trying to approach it like a textbook problem. His sister had figured out-no, no, _assumed_ -some stuff about L and him. She had correctly guessed the amount of times they had met, and the time periods. Probably. His sense of time fled when he was talking to L.

Most importantly (horrifyingly), she was implying that L, ridiculously, liked him back.

0o0o0o

Sayu was grinning when she bounced in the door, and her smile only widened when she saw L.

'Hey, Ryuzaki,' she yelled, as normal. He, as usual, ignored it, and that's when she whispered, 'L'.

He turned around, heart hammering. Who had she heard that from? She wasn't supposed to know. She could tell. She could put him back on the Internet (though wasn't that irrelevant, now, with the email he'd sent?).

_Light_.

L hadn't told him not to tell his name to anyone, because it would have been so much like before and Light was everything that his family wasn't.

Even the way he lied was different.

With a growled curse, L abandoned the empty cashier with a shout to Matsuda to divert any customers and a 'Sorry, this line is CLOSED' sign clattering across the conveyor belt.

'Sayu,' he called, just as the girl was turning into her post in the bakery. 'Who told you my first name?'

'What? Oh, my brother.'

_Of course, who else did I blurt out my real name to without a second thought?_ 'Okay. What context?'

'Casual phone call. Why?'

'My first name is...odd,' L said, grabbing on the closest reason. 'And I've gone by my middle name to practically everyone, so I was...confused.' _I can't mention not to say my name in emails_.

'To all except close friends or something? Yeah, okay.' Sayu looked like she was about to laugh for a second before crushing the notion.

_I can't blame you for breaking rules I never told, never thought we'd have to have_.

L sighed, gave Sayu a nod in goodbye, and awkwardly half-ran back across the store to get to his cashier.

_To all except close friends...Light mentioning me in a phone call? To his sister?_

'You're lucky nobody's come in,' Matsuda lectured.

'Sorry, Matsuda,' L said. 'I had to talk to Sayu.'

'Relatable, really, she's kind of…' Matsuda blushed, unconsciously eying the bakery. 'Pretty? It's something about her eyes, I think.'

_She has her brother's eyes, but his are lit from the inside and so intense it takes your breath away_ is everything L didn't say.

'Whatever you say.' L tried to affect a casual tone at Matsuda's questioning look. 'Not my type.'

_My type is words made of wildfires and angel's eyes and laughter that borders on crazy and challenges_.

When Matsuda turned away to greet the lonely straggler of a customer who came in at ten-thirty, L let himself admit. Standing at the dirty, dinged, plastic cashier-number 9-L admitted that he might be a little bit in lo-

That he was _obsessed_ with Light and his words. More than a little bit.

'I'm obsessed with you,' he whispered, resisting the urge to arch his back into the shiver that went up his spine at the words that felt so forbidden, so sharp and bright and poisonous in his mouth. The good type of poison, the kind that made you murmur it again and again and again, letting it sink through into his skin. It tasted like the rain smelled.

He could hear and see and feel Light's teasing reprimand, _'It's not rain smell, it's petrichor_.'

Who cared if Sayu looked over, who cared if Matsuda heard?

_I've always been good at keeping secrets. As long as I don't tell, nobody will ever know_.

With a groan, L dropped his head into his hands. _Now, if I could actually keep my mouth shut around Light_ …

0o0o0o

'Well, that endeavour was a complete failure,' Light muttered, sketching idly on the margins of his paper. Talking to Sayu to clear his head of L? Laughable (Why can't I keep him out of my thoughts for a day, an hour, a minute?).

The textbook wasn't working. All the numbers and calculations and legalized language and font size and spacing was just so...controlled, so perfect, too perfect. He needed spontaneity, he needed dirty things, polished-from-too-many-hands things, wrecked-yet-functional things ( _He needed L and his taunting_ ). Light slammed the cover shut, quickly checked that the heavy book was undamaged, and strode out of the flat.

Ten minutes later, he was bitterly regretting the dramatics in favour of an actual coat. It may have been August, but the wind was cutting through his thin hoodie and jeans with a vehemence unnatural for summer. Ahead, he spotted the grocery store where Sayu worked, and ran in, grateful.

_God, it's so warm in here. Never again will I complain about Sayu messing with the thermostat whenever she comes over_.

With a groan, Light stretched out his arms and arched his back, holding the stretch for a delicious second before wandering towards the bakery. That was where Sayu said she usually was, right?

'Hey, Light!' His sister smiled, dusting the flour off her hands. It was even warmer here, and Light subtly tried to move closer to the huge oven. In the background, people barked orders, and somebody in a dress shirt yelled at Sayu to keep an eye on the oven.

'Yeah, boss, I know! You've pounded it into my head enough,' she muttered, before turning back to Light. 'Aizawa is a bit of an idiot who feels the need to remind everyone of everything constantly,' she confided.

'Regardless of that, were you the one who set the thermostat this high?' Light asked, gesturing to the air around them.

'Did you come in just to complain about the temperature? Because if that's the case, go bug Ryuzaki. L. Whatever. He controls that stuff.'

'No, to thank y-L?'

'Yeah, he's working the cashier. Number nine? Go have a talk,' Sayu said with a wink. 'I have an oven to tend. Later, big bro.'

More out of confusion than actual intent to talk, Light walked towards the cashiers, grabbing a jar of peanut butter along the way.

'Are you Light? Light Yagami?' a young man with dark hair asked him.

'Yes…' Light said cautiously.

'You look like your sister, if that's what you're wondering. And L won't shut up about you.' The man laughed and gave an awkward wave. 'I'm Touta Matsuda. L's coworker. Same shifts. Sorry.'

'What do you mean by…' Light trailed off.

'Exactly what it sounds like,' Matsuda said, far too innocently. 'He's over there.'

Light looked over to where Matsuda was pointing. The first thing that struck him was that L had his hair in a ponytail, _an actual ponytail_ , the grown-out length at the back that curled away from his neck spilling out from the band in a short, haphazard bun. He still had his bangs, though, messy and ink-black against his skin like always.

_I'm going to convince him to wear a ponytail more often_ , Light thought dazedly, nearly dropping the peanut butter on the conveyer belt.

'I've come over to thank you for turning up the thermostat.'

0o0o0o

It was pretty hard not to notice Light. Damned near impossible if he was speaking, which L knew all too well. Therefore, L blamed the mundanity of his job for the shock he got when Light stepped up behind him.

'I've come over to thank you for turning up the thermostat.'

The only response L could muster was 'What are you doing here?', complete with wide eyes and flushed face.

Light flashed a grin. 'That isn't a very nice way to greet a customer.'

'Buy your fucking peanut butter and let's go talk,' L hissed, voice tipping on the edge of uncontrolled. Light crushed the flutters in his stomach at that darkly commanding voice and pulled out a bit of change.

L dumped the coins into the register and mumbled, 'Sorry about your change,' before turning around to ask, 'Matsuda, can you-'

'I'll manage your till,' the young man groaned, hiding a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little dramatics and work without consequences instead of endgames? I could get used to this version of them. I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t, but I find myself doing so. 
> 
> What’s a writer to do, not fall in love with the characters they’ve poured themselves into time and time again, long before the first word is even dreamt? 
> 
> I just hope I can capture a fragment of their minds, do their new selves a little bit of justice. 
> 
> :: Curling your fingers so tight they lock into that position for a few seconds


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L wears a ponytail when he works and uses the back alley liberally. Late-night confusion isn’t good for either of them.

The side alley was full of city smoke and car exhaust, soaking into the pavement, oozing back out with their footsteps. It felt tangy, and Light clicked his tongue to try to get rid of the sour taste.

'It's my side job,' L explained quickly. Tried to; he kept stumbling over the words that stuck in his mouth. 'For the bills and stuff. Instead of accounting.'

_Why can't I just tell him the truth?_

'Do you...like it?' Light paused, scraping up a dandelion from the asphalt as he reconsidered the question.

'I don't know. It's so boring, all my higher functions shut down,' L tried to joke.

'Huh.' Silence. 'What is this place, your smoker's alley or something?' Light asked, trying to change the subject, craning his neck to glance up at the bare brick walls.

'No. You think your sister would let anyone smoke on her watch?'

'Off hours, then. Maybe you duck out back after the shift. I can see you with a cigarette,' Light teased, grin wolfish.

'Not my thing.' The reminder didn't make his chest pang so much. That was another effect of Light; he made L's head spin and his voice catch and his breathing tighten up and he made the world a little bit more bearable, so L took him like the sleeping pills.

_One more time, one more; you'll set the date for my next fix._

_Being with you is it's own kind of asleep, but I'm yet to figure out if the images are dreams or nightmares_.

'Of all the places to talk to me…'

'I wasn't about to go somewhere obvious.'

Light looked jokingly apprehensive for a second. 'Please don't tell me you're going to announce something like you're going to die. A dirty back alley isn't the place to tell me.'

L laughed in surprise. 'No. I'm not telling you anything. I just…' _I have and had no reason to drag you out, but your presence is a fire and it'll kill me if I don't move and will scorch my wings in the end._

'You just?'

'Well, I wanted to know what you're doing here. Still do. Care to talk?'

'I forgot my coat, I knew my sister worked here, and made a basic analogical leap. I didn't know you worked her-' Light cut himself off with an almost-grimace and a short laugh as the stupidly obvious dawned on him. 'Did I run into you that night when I was getting a snack?'

'Literally,' L quipped, mirroring the expression on Light's face. 'You'll forgive me if I didn't say hello.'

'Matsuda told me your name. Well, middle name. Ryuzaki. And then my sister told me, and I guess I just blocked it out?' Light lifted his gaze, still smiling. 'I'm a moron.'

'You notice the things nobody else does, but you also fail to notice the obvious,' L said. 'I would guess that is a failure more than a strength.'

'Next time you need to remember where you put your phone-or that hair tie you're wearing-don't come to me,' Light mockingly threatened. 'And about that hair tie…'

'It's a job requirement,' L interjected preemptively. 'And you aren't allowed to make rude comments about it.'

'Wasn't going to. I'll leave it at that you should wear it outside the store and that…' His smile distracted L long enough for a finger to hook the quickly slipping elastic band and pull it off. 'It's coming out.'

'Don't touch,' L grumbled jokingly. His hands automatically began pulling back the hair, but Light grabbed the elastic out of his hand before he could put it in.

'You shouldn't use a rubber band, Lawliet,' he scolded, getting distracted from the smirk on his face for a second as he pulled a bright blue hair tie out of his pocket. 'It pulls on the roots.' Then he stepped behind L, gently combing out a few tangles so naturally and absentmindedly L almost wondered if he even knows he was doing it.

Almost, if not for the touch of Light's hands on his skin. They're deliberate, just enough to carry the fringes of a silent laugh with them.

'You don't need to…!' L protests, waving off Light's hands.

'Just let me.' Light's hands are deft and gentle, and the places where they graze his scalp shiver. He's close, very close, and I don't know what to do because this wasn't on my terms and it's like I can hear him. Singing, maybe, or with the words of his poetry always just humming on his tongue.

'There.' Light smiles and stepped back, satisfied with the low ponytail. L can't decide if the expression on his face is innocent or not. He decides that it isn't.

'You didn't have a point to forcing me out here, did you?' Light asks, happily breaking the silence.

'No,' L admitted. 'It was more spur-of-the-moment.'

'Thought so.' Light absentmindedly stretched the rubber band between his index and thumb. 'Of all the places to find you…'

'Why wouldn't the grocery store be one?' L asked.

'I-I don't know. It just seems like the place where you lead the life your parents wanted from you, completely separate from your real life.'

'Mine probably wouldn't have wanted me working in a grocery store,' L said casually, 'but I'm glad I'm out of accounting if it's just for the express purpose of not giving them what they wanted.'

'That's pretty strong animosity. Did you have a-' Light caught himself. 'Sorry.'

'It's harmless, don't worry. If you're thinking about my work and the disagreements there, no. They were just family friends. My parents kicked me out when I was sixteen.' An ironic smile crosses L's face for a fraction of a second. 'They said they didn't care about whoever I turned out to be as a human, as long as it didn't interfere with work.'

The look in those slate eyes might be anger, might be fear, might just be loneliness, festering for so many years. Light can feel his pulse in the base of his neck and knows where the story is going with an awful sureness, and yet he can't stop L's almost-shaking voice and the tides looming above them both.

'One day, my...grades started to slip. Badly. And I was stood in front of them, barely sixteen, trying not to wonder what they were thinking, and forced to tell about everything.'

'What do you mean by 'everything'?'

'All my friends. Extracurriculars. What I had been looking up online. And so I told them. I told them that I was with a boy behind their back and then they stared at me for a minute and then they calmly pointed me out.' Light's head is spinning. L's last words are more of just a mocking voice. 'Filthy hypocrites. I guess I learned from the best.'

0o0o0o

Light dragged the truth out of him as easily as other people made him lie. It was just a fact, as real as the Earth turning.

_I guess I misjudged you. First, I thought you were a sleeping pill, then the addictive street drugs that I'd always crave again, now I know that you're a truth serum and a killing dose mixed up with pretty words and beautiful eyes_.

His chest hurt. Pinched, kind of. Or compressed. Under the weight of all the confessions he'd just spat out, barely a stumble in between.

To this day, he didn't know if his parents kicked him out for failing the biggest case he'd ever been set or because of the reason he lost the game. And he'd die not knowing, because the indecision changed between bottles of cheap liquor and he could flip between them by the hour, minute, second; by _God_ it was so much better scratching tic-tac-toe patterns into his arms when the question kept him awake then having the real weight of an answer.

That was all an accident, he wanted to say to the angel before him. I can't lie around you, and so you know so many things that I've never allowed even myself to speak.

But it wasn't, not completely. He had been planning on something akin to coming out for a few days; always when he was delirious and exhausted, but still.

'L Lawliet…' Light breathes.

He has no idea what to say. All the words that keep forcing their way through him whenever he's around Light have disappeared. Ironic, when just before...'Hypocrisy. Because I'm a running drunkard with commitment problems and you're a depressed overachiever who's had the mistake of getting stuck with me and we both think we can make whatever this is work, don't we?'

_Stop talking!_ The officials had screamed. _Just do your work and find the villain. We don't need your questions, and we don't need your answers to them_.

From the first time he'd tugged on his mother's sleeve and said, _'But there is no real villain here, they're all at fau-_ ' and been scolded.

_Just...stop talking._

'I'm sorry,' was all he could say. Standing in a smoker's alley with Light halfway through straightening his drawstrings, him with a messy ponytail and the black hoodie he always wore here, _'I'm sorry'_ was all he could come up with to say _._

'I do.'

'What?'

'I think that we can make our-our whatever it is-work. As a 'runaway drunkard' and a 'depressed overachiever'. We have been, haven't we?'

'Through codes and blogs and human stars and meetings…' L whispered.

'So why stop?' Light stepped closer, and L stared at him, willing this with very particle of his being that this was not a dream.

_I've decided. You aren't a nightmare when you make me fall asleep_.

L and his angel in a dirty back alley of a grocery store. Their meetings have never been orthodox, not when you consider everything.

'Come on.' Light motioned back towards the store, a small smile on his face. When L passed, he whispered, 'I doubt you have commitment issues,' before ducking inside. He was gone before L came inside.

_That's because I didn't tell you about B and A and all the others I've taken as a replacement and I doubt you'd be saying that if you looked._

_But for now, it won't hurt you. So I'll let you say that, and try to convince myself as well as you_.

0o0o0o

'I saw you talking with my brother,' Sayu remarks casually, leaning across the counter. She's not really 'blocking' the cashier, but the signals could be picked up by a blind man. He isn't escaping this conversation.

'Cut to the chase, Sayu,' L sighs. Sayu shrugs, wicked grin in place.

'My brother is interested in you...r ideas,' she says, dragging the 'U' out for a nearly obscene amount of time. 'Do with that what you wish. Now, I should get back to baking.' She saunters off.

_Learning things like that is our game, our job_ , L thinks.

_Our game. Careful steps, careful moves, a hand underneath the chessboard._

_And he keeps adding intricacies, and if he was anyone else I'd be out of my mind with annoyance but for him, it drives me insane in a different way; I need his challenges like I need to eat._

_And tomorrow? Underneath the human-made stars, with his brilliant eyes on mine? That will be another challenge he throws down, and this time, I might fail_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write when it’s dark and in secret, when I’m completely delirious and delusional about what I’m trying to say. Does that make this really my writing? Probably. 
> 
> :: Bending your neck until the tendons stretch too tight


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is easy to dream instead of see, and so we chase them.

That night, it is like the first. L staggers home with a smile and blurry eyes and collapses into bed without the taste of a sleeping pill bitter on his tongue. And he sleeps, and he dreams.

This time, it's about Light. Standing on the hill where they'll meet tomorrow, gazing out towards the city. The expression on his face isn't peaceful, but the crease between his eyes is gone. Content, wondering, maybe wishing?

'Light?'

He doesn't look, and so L turns towards the city, too, and it nearly takes his breath away. The city is alive, each star breathing not quite in tandem with it's neighbors.

'It's all so alive,' Light whispers, not quite in awe, just in respect. L looks at him. His hair is shining white, a sharp contrast to the red highlights the daylight brings out. What luminosity is reflected off him here and now?

His eyes are white, too, with barely a hint of brown.

'Am I alive?'

'Of course,' L reassures. His hands are on Light's chest, a natural response. There are no drawstrings to straighten. 'Alive and laughing and speaking words like the universe tells you secrets.'

Light smiles, but his expression grows no happier. 'Good. I thought-I can't tell-' Anguish crosses his features for a second. 'I'm alive?'

'Yes.' He's not wearing his sweater, but L traces the paths the drawstrings would rest across his chest anyways. 'Just keep breathing.'

This time, his smile is so relieved and exhausted. 'I always will.'

L wakes up.

His fingers curl in his pillow. The dream might have been unsettling, might have been cleansing in an inexplicable way. L didn't want to repeat it, no matter the unearthly beauty of the breathing city.

And his head starts to hurt again.

L abruptly swings himself out of bed and starts down the hall to get a glass of water. A quick glance at his phone told him it was four AM-far too early and too late simultaneously for anything. It's the bridging hour. Five was the morning, three was the night-what was four?

Filling his head with meaningless words to distract from his real thoughts.

The bathroom was too dark to see anything, and L let it stay like that. He knew that his hair would be even worse than usual, and his shirt was sticking to him, and his eyes would be dulled by sleep and dreams and shadowed by worry. If he didn't have to face something, anything, he didn't. It was just easier.

If only he didn't have to face Light again; though he'd give his hand to just start again. Before the store, maybe. Or just from the first night, replay their game and make things just a little bit better.

The cartons brushed against his sleeve when he reached to put the cup back, and L stilled, a sick feeling in his stomach. Should he take one, just to get back to sleep? Nightmares always made it so much harder. Thoughts made it worse. If only the pills turned off his thoughts.

L stared into the darkness like a blind man, then turned and walked back to bed without touching the cardboard cartons. It would have taken less time with the pill, but he didn't care, and the act awarded him an odd sort of victory. And he needed victory.

0o0o0o

_Today seems further away_ , Light thought. _Removed, or something_. He gently pulled at the hem of his shirt, straightening the creases. The words didn't make much sense.

After last night in the alley, Light hadn't felt the wind when he walked (Ran? Stumbled?) home. His head was spinning, overfilled with thoughts and replays and emotions, but mostly just thoughts, thoughts, thoughts; runaway drunkard with commitment problems, depressed overachiever.

And so the honeymoon period had ended.

His was, honestly, accurate, Light thought bitterly, though it didn't take any of the sting away.

L's description of himself was angry and desperate, a thrown stone in the heat of the moment. It was honest, too, soaked with the kind of defeat that only came from experience.

_And then, who am I to you, L? I would have liked to think you thought of me as more than what you spat out in a darkened alley last night_.

Light closed his eyes and tried to unravel the knot in his chest. A string of worry here, anger there, defeat-more like helplessness there, panic knotted tight and dark in the center.

All bound up with red strings.

With a sigh that might have been a name, Light slumped over into the table. One of the legs must have been uneven. He remembered holding a phone here, entirely and utterly absorbed into their conversation.

_Wonder what you're doing, my dearest rival_.

His eyes slid shut.

No dreams, just the blurry awareness of time. That it passed, not that he particularly cared. It might have been an hour, might have been twenty minutes, wandering in a soft world where words had less meaning.

When he came to, Light's head was heavy and part of him wanted to just slip back under. But he had things to do-he couldn't think of them right now, but acknowledging them had to count for something. Always the responsibilities, Light thought with a twist of his mouth. Like weights he kept carrying because everyone else was.

Maybe just a few more minutes…

He was just on the cusp of sleep when his phone rang with a text from Sayu. Attached was a picture of the young, friendly worker Light had been introduced to last night-Matsuda, wasn't it?-that, judging by his flailing hands, had obviously been taken without his knowledge.

**From: Sayu**

:: i might b eyeing him

**From: Light**

:: Why are you telling me this?

**From: Sayu**

:: b happy 4 me i want courage

**From: Light**

:: Exhausted your other contacts already, I see.

**From: Sayu**

: maybe anyways just congratulate me n wish me luck on getting a cue thru 2 his sweet oblivious head

**From: Light**

:: Good luck, sis. But be warned, if I ever see you two like you do in those romances you love so much…

**From: Sayu**

:: noted

**From: Sayu**

:: u really love L or Ryuzaki or whoever he is

Light's stomach jumped and the ' _I'm not supposed to see that_ ' acid flooded his throat.

**From: Light**

:: Is this the real reason you called me?

**From: Sayu**

:: yeh but u should also know about matsuda. r you or r u not in love with L?

Of all the ways to confess. A text full of abbreviations and mistakes from someone who wasn't even involved.

**From: Light**

:: Probably not.

**From: Light**

:: I have to get something, later.

Without checking for a response, Light dropped the phone face-down on the table, breathing absurdly heavily for a conversation. His phone buzzed, once, twice, causing the table to vibrate and resonate. The noise was awful. Light grabbed his phone and fumbled with the 'off' button until it shut off completely, screen dead and quiet.

He'd overreacted like a child accused of crime; was that an obvious enough answer?

_I don't know. I don't know what's happening with him or with me or with whatever it is we've built. It wasn't friendship, not from the first night. We are rivals first and foremost, that's what he-I-_ we _established._

_It is not friendship, but our rivalry is crumbling by the day, leaving us with the pearly bones and a promise that we'll take it to the grave. What is left behind, and why, why, why is there a voice still telling me that I still believe that we can make it work?_

_I have always needed words, and it scares me not to be able to define this. He has scared me from the start for a million reasons (and by God, he's drawn me in with a million and one)._

_You cannot define L Lawliet, and I think I might love that_.

0o0o0o

The air was cool today, almost warning of rain when coupled with the few clouds that were scudding lethargically on the horizon.

He was hours early. He had barely eaten all day. His homework was sitting neglected on his desk. And he was going to sit down on top of that hill that used to just be another one but then L came along and it wasn't, so suddenly it left him awestruck.

The grass was just starting to cool off, and the shadows were starting to stretch across the grass, distorting along the slope of the hill. This was good. This was better than home, Light thought before pulling his sweater over himself and relaxing.

Just for a bit. He was allowed things, Light decided, just for tonight. He was allowed to ignore things and focus on things and think about L and the past.

0o0o0o

Light wasn't answering his texts, and L couldn't blame him. After last night, after the gleam in those brown eyes that might have been trust but might have been pain-why couldn't he tell the two apart?-he wouldn't have answered if their positions were reversed.

Logically, he should leave one last text saying something came up and bury himself back in bed with his laptop, back to a swirling mind and cold knot of worry about the unanswered email that had settled in his gut and grew bigger every day. What he did instead was show up, because Light made him hope when it was reckless and forget to think things through.

The stars were just waking up, L thought with a pang of his dream. Breathing alive, moving and shivering and laughing alive. _Light_ alive, in the way that nobody else was.

Speaking of Light, here he was, asleep with his head propped on his arms. It looked like he was listening to music nobody else heard, and maybe he did. Whatever voice compelled him to spill out poetry into digital pixels must have been muted to the rest of them.

'Wake up, angel,' L whispered, gently shaking Light's shoulder. Softly first, then harder as it became apparent that he would not rouse.

A flash of the dream that L shook off like it would choke him. For all purposes, it would, consume the breaths of peace that sustained him, and he would cough out his life beside his sleeping angel. Light's hair was shot through with reflections from the human-made stars backlighting his gently rising and falling back.

Red on brown on white. He could lay down and sleep, too.

'Wake up,' L repeated, and Light opened his eyes.

'L?'

'You fell asleep,' L told him. Light almost smiled.

'I came out early. I guess I was tired. Don't worry, I'm waking up.'

'Of course.' L offered his hand, and Light winced when he took it.

'Thanks,' Light said gratefully. 'I'm all stiff from sleeping…'

His hair gleamed white in the city lights, and L couldn't stop staring.

'Light?'

'Mmm?'

'Is tonight still on?'

'Wh-' Light paused, an odd expression staring momentarily over his face. 'If it's because of what you said last night, I stand by what I said. I think we can make whatever it is we have work, and I don't think you have commitment problems.'

'So, that's a yes…?'

Light laughed this time, and it shouldn't have taken as many years from his face as it did. 'Yes. Tonight is still on. Come on, Daedalus.'

'What?' L smiled, and it felt better.

'The genius inventor. You need a nickname, Lawliet,' he called back, already starting towards the path.

'Whatever you say...Icarus.'

At Light's questioning glance, he laughed. 'You must remember the legend. You're my human angel.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way just a single word can change a sentence is an art, and though I am not the master sculptor, I do love the craftsmanship. Look at the way a single syllable diverts the flow of a sentence and tell me it isn’t some kind of magic. 
> 
> :: The pressure behind your eyes when you hear that song


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world becomes a little bit more wonderful.

_Angel, surely somewhere in that brilliant mind of yours you've learned the myths of a people who believed their gods were no better than they._

_And so I ask: Who are you, then, if the gods are so human? How are you more than, you beautiful human angel?_

_Darling, tell me what your name is earlier next time, okay?_

Their fingers brushed like cobwebs when Light finally released him.

'The path is this way,' he teased. There was a drawn-in quality to his eyes, and L wondered with more than a pang just how good he was at hiding things from everybody, especially himself.

_What's the lie you tell most? Is it 'No, it's fine'? Mine is almost the same-just change one word_.

Caught up in his spinning head again; it's muscle memory that leads him to stop and go along this too-long, too-short path. L tucks his head into the upturned collar of his jacket and sets off, aching for their old dynamic back. This one isn't bad, per se, and that's the worst part. He doesn't know how to act. He's running completely blind.

The fact that Light isn't beside him becomes immediately obvious, and L turns back to see what he's doing. He's just staring up at the sky at the blurry part where it turns into humanity's constructions. L watches him in turn, and entertains the notion that they might be breathing in sync.

They stand there for a few seconds, and in those tiny moments, something akin to their old dynamics settles back in. It's something in the half-smile Light offers him when he finally looks away from the human-made stars and jogs back to the path, the one that says 'So, then?'

'Thanks for waking me up again,' Light says easily, hands curled comfortably in his sweater pocket. 'I was a bit worried about getting sunburned since I was probably there for an hour or so before the sun went down.'

'Concerned about your looks, pretty-boy?' L teases. Light grins and elbows him in the ribs, and L pulls down his hood and ruffles his hair in retaliation.

'Hey!' he complains, swatting L's hands away and sweeping his hair back to the carefully messy bangs.

'Stop me,' L invites. Light looks up and does this little eyebrow raise 'oh-really' thing, and L's heart jumps.

'I don't know what I can do to you that you haven't done to yourself,' he says casually, offhandedly twisting a lock of raven hair in his fingers.

'Rude,' L huffs. Light chuckles and releases the strands he's wound around his fingers. They keep their shape, suspended off L's neck.

'Come on.'

0o0o0o

'At least you brought warmer stuff this time,' L comments, nodding to Light's fingerless gloves. 'Barely warmer, and probably more of your 'aesthetic' appearance than anything, but warmer.'

'You're the only person who can appear to compliment me and then immediately follow up with whatever what was,' Light sighs. 'I never know what you're meaning. Not entirely.'

'Is that good or bad?'

'Yes,' Light said with a quirk of his mouth. L was just about to start on that answer when the cafe appeared around the corner. Light ran ahead and opened the door with a mocking grin. 'Ladies first.'

L blamed the glint in those brown eyes and the shock to his system for his willingness to accept the invitation. Light follows, overly pleased with himself.

By this point, running through the door, hair tousled by the wind and asking for their back table is barely a footnote in their story; their insane, convoluted story. Must be a fairy tale, where else do they switch from gentle words to turning away in minutes?

Maybe it's the offhand joke L makes about the noise or the way Light's started tapping on the table again, but immediately, anything they might have gained in those precious few moments before they started walking is gone. L cuts off the thought that ' _before Light would have said something about just cutting to the chase or I would have. We used to be so effortless and now my wings are weighted down_ ' because it is pointless. They entire reason they have to follow the same dance everybody else does now is because...they can't. He messed it up.

L finds he can't stomach his food, and taps his fork carelessly on the edge of his plate. Light hasn't touched his tea, but swirls it meditatively, careful not to spill.

_We used to be that perfectly controlled. He did, I did, maybe not together, but on our own. Together? We set each other aflame from the first night and every meeting after that just fed the flames. So is it really my fault for charring us too far?_

_Or is it my fault for hoping he'll still take me when I am?_

'So,' L starts. Light looks up, but he doesn't interrupt, and that bothers L more than it should. In fact, Light doesn't speak at all, so it's left to L to keep a one-sided conversation running. He's supposed to interject with sarcasm and wit and everything that is annoying and infuriating and perfect. A quiet Light is a horrible thing.

'Light?' he asks hesitantly, half a plea, half a 'Answer me, you arrogant and confusing moron'. A long silence. Light's eyes are level, but a sort of finalist grimace quirks up the side of his mouth. His eyes don't meet L's.

'Yes?'

'I-' L is cut off by the arrival of the waiter, who frowns at them before nodding to Light with a mechanical: 'You wanted to order?'

'About...' L stops with a look of irritation. _Your terms or nothing at all, is it, angel_. As if he heard, those brown eyes finally, finally lock with his. They are full of the wrong type of challenge and the wrong type of fire.

_Your terms; I can play. But first, it's your turn, make your move_.

Light orders water and, when it arrives, pushes it silently across the table to L. He accepts it. The sides of the bottle are cold and wet with condensation, and the droplets come off in L's hands.

'Thanks.' Light just nods.

'Drink it. It helps with-those, or so I've heard,' he says, motioning towards the bags under L's eyes. His hand comes so close it burns, but Light does not touch him.

And so Light sets their new boundaries, pulls his rival secretly aside and tells him that no matter what the game used to be, it is different now and that he should memorize the rules anew. And his rival outwardly agrees, and secretly (not so secretly) longs for their old game with a fury.

0o0o0o

L is in the middle of awkwardly recounting a completely fabricated story about what he saw in the park when Light finally interrupts.

'What did you mean by what you said?' Light asks calmly, suddenly, like he's talking about the weather. L follows the motion of his tea when he answers.

'I...generalized things.'

'Drop the legal language. What did you-do you think of me, devoid of sugarcoating?'

L sat back and looked up from the swirling green tea that was dangerously close to spilling over. Light's eyes were overbright, fever-bright. This was the tempest, and he welcomed it with a weariness.

_They do say it's an odd kind of sickness. Nobody told me telling the truth until it bleeds you dry was a symptom. Of course, nobody tells you about the human angels_.

And his head aches.

'I do not think that you are what I called you,' L said softly.

'Don't think I'm only that, Lawliet?'

He shouldn't smile at the cruel edge in Light's voice, but there is a laugh that keeps bubbling up from his throat. 'I don't think you're only that.'

Light's eyes reflect sharp hurt for a second before it turns back to his perfect, precisely cold expression. 'Then tell me who I am.'

'You are an overachiever,' L starts, and Light raises an eyebrow. 'And sometimes not in a good way. I can see the way you stay up too late thinking or force yourself back to the books when you can barely focus.'

'Only you can say something like that,' Light says, but his eyes are fixed, unmoving, on L's, with interest. 'And Lawliet-I asked for what you thought, not a counseling session. I know what you were about to say.'

_Am I that easy to read or that easy to predict?_ L doesn't bother saying he wouldn't. 'I think you're brilliant, Light Yagami. As a rival, as an enemy, as a human. Maybe as a…' Brown eyes, tired eyes. He doesn't want to hear it and L can't force the word from his mouth. 'Ally.'

'Player,' Light offers.

'That too.'

They sit in silence and L rolls the words he just said over in his mouth. They aren't strong enough. He can't speak like Light does. They aren't enough to change them unless they are small and sharp and desperate with truth, and then they embed themselves and sink deeper with every step they run.

He doesn't want to think right now. He just wants to let himself fall into this sleeping, drowsy environment, soft lamplight and perfect conversations.

And so, L decides, why not?

'Angel…' The sigh falls from his mouth unconsciously when he reaches across to fix his drawstrings. Light's worrying hand releases when he comes near, and pauses before gently touching his. L stops and looks up. Light's expression is unfathomable, but might hold hints of sadness.

'I'll ask again, L Lawliet. What do you think of me?'

Why not, why not? Why not take a chance and destroy the best game he'd ever played, where he had more interest in who sat across the table than their moves?

He'll try once more, if only for another chance at him.

'Your words,' L says softly. 'They're everything. Wildfires and rain and tides. I don't know how you speak like a god, but you do, and it drags too much truth out of me, and I can't control my words or think things through because your presence is the drug I'm addicted to…'

'L…' And the room is spinning, and his head is spinning, and his thoughts are not what leaves his mouth.

L grinned and spread his hands. Best to go out with a bang, to match the fires Light had set and left to consume him. 'Give me another fix?'

And his head hurts.

Light takes his hand and stares at him with eyes that look like the very earth created them.

'Let's go.'

And his head feels like it splits open.

0o0o0o

They run. L is always running, but this is the first time it might be towards something. What that something is, he doesn't know and doesn't want to, not for now.

Light's hand is rough with pencil calluses along the joints. Writer calluses, scholar's calluses, this boy wasted in front of a desk. It is steady in his. They end at the hill, that hill full of stars, that hill where he slept and L nearly slept with him.

_He's still angry, he's still cold, he's still whatever he is after I called him things that were wrong. He's not Light, not my human angel_ is what L worries, and yet he keeps running and there's another laugh rising out of his chest.

They stop on top of their hill. L catches a glimpse of Light with his hair disheveled and eyes wide. Backlit by the ambiance that only comes from gauzy rain clouds shielding the sun-he's never looked more or less human.

'Rain clouds. In August.'

'What are the chances?' L asks. What are the chances of meeting a beautiful boy in the little store nobody ever goes to, and dropping boxes, and having him demand to meet, and then having him write down a number on your arm and whisper 'Saturday?' What are the chances that their story had worked out exactly like this, messy and disjointed and hiding feelings and secrets? What are the chances that they were both satisfied, ridiculously, that or drunk off life?

What are the chances of making it all work? One thousand to one.

'One thousand to one,' L repeats, and Light gives him that half-smile.

'One in a thousand chance of rain in August.'

'I didn't say that the one was the rain clouds.'

It must be late. Ten, maybe eleven. Who knew? Time seemed to flow differently underneath the city's stars.

'You're just like them,' L said quietly, nodding to the city. 'A perfect, unknowing reflection of the cosmos, born from steel and glass and the world. Human-made stars indeed.' The air is bright when they breathe, heavy with the smell of rain.

'Petrichor,' Light suddenly says, and the duck of his head and split second of not-at-all-self-conscious smile make L's heart jump.

The sky rumbles and the first raindrops start to fall, spotting their clothes with teardrops and their hair with tangles. Light looks up and closes his eyes, stretches his arms out, breathes in until his chest feels like it will burst. He's here. Standing on top of a hill with the most arrogant, confusing, amazing rival-friend-person-he's ever met. He's breathing, now, and for once can guarantee that he will be if just for a few more minutes. He's alive.

0o0o0o

Thunder scores the silence and they barely flinch when it does. The rain is coming down in earnest now, and it makes their hair drip into their eyes. L doesn't really care. All he wants to do is take Light's hand and stand here and get completely soaked by the rain and stare at the only stars he is able to see in the city.

Light must love the rain. His fingers are wet with it when L reaches up to where they're flung above his head and slides his hand into his.

Light stills, then pulls L towards him and their entwined hands bump against their chests. Then he laughs and looks away again, the hint of a smile on his lips. He still holds L close.

L breathes out, too, and watches their stars.

Light stands beside him and doesn't let go of his hand, and L's head burns and he can't stop staring. Light is truly angelic, hair white-lit and twisted up by the wind behind him.

God, he's beautiful.

God, he's everything L has ever wanted and more.

_And you stand here. You stand here with all the stars swirled into your hair and your eyes and your voice, and you laugh at the tide that takes us all_.

He was breathtaking and perfect and everything.

0o0o0o

'Angel?' Light turned. L cupped a hand under his chin.

Who cared about anything?

Who cared that they were a runaway drunkard with commitment problems and a depressed overachiever? Who cared that whatever they were was messy and fragmented and painful at best? Who cared that they loved to delude themselves that they could make it work?

Who cared? The rain kept falling, washing away their words, if it took a thousand years.

The rain, the rain, the rain in August. Light's air was heavy with it.

'Light.' And L leaned forward and softly kissed him, his perfectly imperfect human angel, on their hill in the middle of a rainstorm. Backdropped by the city and the world.

He tasted like his green tea and the rain.

He burned, slowly, gently, faster and faster, pulling L in and fusing his wings together, God, he accepted the chains. If that was the price he had to pay, then so be it.

He made everything worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’d been waiting. Of course, it was after the useless games and the not-so useless games and the games that might not have been games and might have been real. But it had to be, because they are, after all, quieter. 
> 
> :: A screen late at night, with the brightness high and the rest of the room forgotten


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain.

Their kiss tastes like rain and not much else. It's easier to close their eyes in the downpour.

Light pulls away first. A smile twitches at the corner of L's mouth. He doesn't know why.

'Lawliet.'

They'll deal with the baggage that surely comes with this later. For now, it's raining.

The thunder crashes, and Light tips his head up in semblance of awe. Or maybe he's just lightheaded. The sky-it's falling, bit by bit, towards him, and he'll welcome it with open arms. He'll welcome the end of his world and L's and drag his genius made of everything down when he thought he'd be safe. He will burn them among the dewdrops that gather on the grass, with the heat that lingers on both of their skins.

God, he loved the game and the players more than life itself, for this was his life now.

'You don't expect things like this,' Light says.

Cloudbursts in August; who would have known?

'I never expected any of this,' L says.

_My head is full of rain clouds and cold water. It is bright and fresh and sharp, and it has tempered me to the storm. Your perfect storm, L._

_It's raining, in August_.

Light steps back. L's gray eyes are dark with weight. Something flickers in them, and Light recognizes that. Then he turns around and leaves. The stars of the city blur behind him.

0o0o0o

L doesn't remember waking up, putting the kettle on, clutching a cup of green tea so tight it scorched his skin. He doesn't remember what happened last night after Light left. He remembers what happened before, in the way one remembers a dream, and he remembers their kiss.

_It's too early for this_ , L thinks. _Too early to be this caught up in thoughts. Too late, too, since it's after three AM. Four. It's four, neither night nor day, just the grayness in between. That matches_.

The skin of his hands is turning pink and prickles like it will melt and fuse to the ceramic. He hasn't touched the drink, just swirls it around the cup without spilling over. Up at four AM, sitting at his white IKEA table with an untouched cup of green tea and messy hair and messy words and a messy mind. Light would put that on his blog. Under one of his 'aesthetics', but not the pictures carefully taken and enhanced and desaturated again. The other ones, the paragraphs that made L's head feel like vertigo, or when he finished a book. The ones that all started with the same word.

Words all over his desk in pencil keep smudging because he's too afraid to draw them in pen.

0o0o0o

Light wants to lean back against a wall and think until his eyelids grow heavy, but he reaches for a math textbook instead.

The problems are never solved. Light doodles words from a possible speech in the margins, hoping that something will reveal itself to him as the perfect thing to say. Nothing ever does.

_Last night_ , he reflects. _Last night was the first time. For a lot of things. We didn't set a next-date, is that what they were? We met differently. We…_

His mind pushes images forward, gray eyes closing, soft breath, sweet taste, pressure that crushed and gentled at once. Light pushes them back.

In a way, this is exactly like their very first meeting and exactly opposite. No contact, no name, no information, just a time and place and a promise to meet. Now, no place and time to meet again but contacts and names and so much information accidentally trusted.

Parallel. Light seizes on the word and examines it, trying to keep himself above the tides that threaten to drag him under his thoughts.

He reads the dictionary blindly, mind full of gray eyes and rain, and if you asked he wouldn't be able to recall a single word he read.

0o0o0o

L clicks through his email and tries to ignore the highlighted message at the top. Mail's returned, he thinks, but the joke isn't as funny anymore. It's been more than a month since it was.

**Re: So?**

**To: L**

**From: M, N, W, one other**

Dearest L Lawliet,

We're pleased to have gotten your correspondence. What do you wish?

-M, N, W, m

L smiles tightly. Of course it's today. Of course, of all the days they could have bothered to respond, it's today. And is not like they planned it-how could they have known?-and somehow, that makes it worse.

It brings Nate and Mihael and Mail and Wammy back into focus, and all the lies L's told Light along with them. Accountant. Slight disagreement. He could have just told the truth to someone mature enough to handle him, but no, he had to play with fire and get himself caught up in a spiderweb of false trails.

How could he get out? The answer was simple. He couldn't. Light would be furious. Not at his old job; he'd probably find it interesting (L didn't think of all the conversations they could have had about psychoanalysis and games or the way his chest would have felt so might lighter) but at the way L covered it up. Half-truths, careful words. Something about the brown-haired boy screamed that he hated them unnaturally, and held nothing but loathing for those who employed them against him. He considered those who used them to be insulting his intelligence, saying that he wasn't strong enough or old enough to handle it all. That they treated him like a child.

Which is what L had been doing, he admitted with a soft groan. Unnecessarily. It was just instinctive to cover his old job as a detective up, no matter how many gaping holes it left in his life and story. He shouldn't have treated Light like a child.

Light, teasing and pure and beautiful underneath the city stars. Light, who's moods and thoughts he couldn't figure out but was utterly entranced by, who he should step around but instead drew closer and closer to. Light who gave him gifts in words and sentences.

Light, who had kissed back in the rain.

L didn't want it all taken away in a burst of anger because he wanted to be honest for once. He was never honest, L thought with a jerky grin, never anywhere except for around Light. And last time he'd said he would keep his mouth shut, it had gone exactly opposite. So why not enjoy his angel before it killed him?

There's no way he'd be at the hill again, anyways.

0o0o0o

Light sat down. The human-made stars were obscured by dust and noise now, transforming the unearthly landscape to just another building, another car, another factory. The grass was dry beneath his fingers. The cloudburst had barely lasted ten minutes.

His thoughts had driven him out of the house. Away from the dictionary and math book, at least. Towards a better spot to think about the mess he'd gotten himself into.

L, L, L and his gray eyes and messy hair and pronunciation that almost hinted of an accent, of his deliberate ignorance of social norms. Of everything about him that shouldn't be so interesting.

Light took a deep breath and tried to sort through the mess. Work through it like a textbook problem. There had to be an answer.

Start from their first meeting outside the store. No, backtrack. Inside the store. What had he thought?

That he wasn't supposed to be there, but maybe they were similar, and that his eyes were black until he'd seen them closer.

No, that method wouldn't work. His head already hurt recounting how tangled his feeling were back then. Time hasn't served to straighten them.

Did he like L?

Light changed the question.

Would he be interested in-

Was he interested in pursuing-

Impossible.

What do you do if the person you'd both promised was nothing but a rival kisses you in the rain after what had happened?

What if you didn't know how you felt about them, or even if it was negative or positive?

What do you do if someone who was definitely more than your rival kisses you?

How ridiculous was he, Light asked himself. He couldn't even decide who the guy he'd made out with in this very spot was to him. L Lawliet wasn't a textbook problem, and he didn't have an answer.

But he was attractive, and if he wanted a repeat of last night, Light would agree.

'Hello, angel.'

Light whirled around. L gave him a casual wave, just a ripple of the fingers. His eyes were unfathomable.

Of all the times, of all the places. Of all the people to meet buying sleeping pills at the little store nobody else goes to, it had to be him, this awful, infuriating, beautiful, perfect man. _Him_. L Lawliet. Of all the damned people on this earth, he was the one who would call him 'angel'.

Light jumped up and ran towards him. L staggered back, and suddenly they were on the ground, and maybe there was still a hint of petrichor in the earth. Light grabbed his collar and fisted a hand in that raven hair and kissed him hard.

Who cared, who cared about anything? Who cared who L Lawliet was to him?

He was everything, and Light didn't really care about anything else right now.

They broke apart. Light was breathing heavily. L looked shocked, and his hands tightened their grip around Light's sides, pulling him closer.

'Angel…'

Light leaned down again, his lips brushing L's ear. The words stick in his throat, and the wrong ones come out.

'I love you.'

0o0o0o

A lot of things weren't supposed to have happened. He wasn't supposed to have noticed the young man in the little store. He wasn't supposed to start whatever this was with him. They weren't supposed to meet at the cafe with the best cake time and time again, and stand and watch the human-made stars together, and say too many things.

However, in all their mistakes, this might not be one of them. L hoped desperately that it wasn't.

Someday in the future, he'd tell Light under his own terms and not the drug Light was. When they were tied together by more strings than they could count, so there'd be a safety net. So he'd have a chance to apologize. Or maybe he'd forget before that day. It would be okay.

(He wouldn't)

0o0o0o

Maybe not everything was perfect. He wasn't. His thoughts weren't. His life was a mess of words, and L had taken it and turned it over and shown him his own words and messy life.

'I don't have answers to you,' Light whispered.

'That's because we aren't a textbook problem,' L answered. 'We're better. And you can't solve us, and that's okay. I don't want to be solved, to be cut up into black ink words in all the same size and font.'

'Then I won't.'

'Thank you, angel.'

They stayed there for a long time, almost asleep in the sun and early morning dew.

''S Like you're a sleeping pill…' L muttered before he opened his eyes.

'What?' Light asked, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

'You're like a drug,' L said sleepily. 'Keep making me say things…'

'Same.' Light leaned over with a chuckle and kissed him, feeling a ripple of shock and excitement spike through him. He could think later. 'That's a good thing.'

'Mmm.' L's fingers twisted into Light's hair. When they parted, L's eyes were open and bright. 'I've been meaning to tell you something. Do you have a pen?'

An old blue ballpoint with a battered cap and the label long worn off. L's mouth quirked when he saw it.

'Recognize it?'

The instruction 'Roll up your sleeve' and a smile was his only response. Light complied with a laugh, and L paused, running a finger over the smooth skin before writing down an address. He wrote weirdly, completing only the basic lines of an entire sentence before adding on dots or crossing 7s and Ts. His hand smudged the ink, and even the harsher letters were full of whorls.

Light loved it.

'Meet me?' L asked. 'Saturday?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a breaking point to everything, material or not. 
> 
> :: Holding a glass sculpture that belongs to someone else


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath is more pleasant than anything.

The clock blinked 4:38 in red. Light stared at the numbers and told himself he shouldn't be awake, that he should be doing something, that his sweater was twisted tight around his shoulders and pulling his arms across his chest. That he'd fallen into bed dizzy and passed out without stripping off. That his hair was a mess from being carded through L's fingers and used to pull him closer.

He shouldn't be awake, but his chest was full to bursting with emotions he couldn't name, and he had to wonder if L was awake and relive, relive every amazing, burning second of their early-morning meeting. What had happened after that? Not much, Light thought, straining to remember. Homework, probably, or chores, or mindless online scrolling for once, too undone to do anything else. His words replayed in his head.

They were messy, L had gotten that right. He knew that, and he accepted it, so Light shouldn't feel like he had to name everything that defined them, especially when some of them definitely didn't have names. Names as specific as Light wanted.

The red numbers on the clock blurred back and forth, changing occasionally. Light couldn't bother to make sense of the arrangement anymore. He closed his eyes.

The next two days passed in a blur. L didn't contact him except to leave a comment on his blog, specifically something Light had written about himself. All it said was 'I love it'. Light had to reluctantly appreciate him for that.

Early Saturday, Sayu called him. Light cursed and grabbed his phone before his accidental backhand knocked it off the desk and pressed 'Accept', hoping his voice didn't betray the fact that he'd just woken up.

'Hello?'

'Ryuzaki seems to have had a lobotomy the last few days,' Sayu announced without even a greeting. 'Walking around like he hasn't slept in a week, staring at everybody like he's never seen us before, looks like an actual raccoon with the bags he's got going on.'

'Oh.' Light resisted the urge to check his own state in the mirror. Judging by the tangled hair falling into his eyes, it wasn't pretty. 'Since when?'

'Thursday, I think. You know anything?' Sayu teased. Light could hear her clicking her pen and occasionally ordering someone around. Probably Matsuda.

'No.' Light hesitated for a second. 'Probably just a bad night.'

'Or an especially good one…' Sayu sang. Before Light could react with a choice comment, she laughed, wished him goodbye, and hung up.

Light slowly put down his phone and ruffled his bangs through his fingers, groaning. He really should fix himself and eat or something.

Two minutes later, his phone buzzed again with a text from L. Light's heart jumped and a million responses rushed through his head even before he read the message.

**From: L**

: I'm calling you.

'I heard your sister talking to you about me, and I'd like to assure you that I have not gotten a lobotomy.'

'Hello to you too, you giant dork,' Light said, a smile threatening to break his face.

'Hello, angel,' L laughed. His voice was everything Light needed in that moment. 'Did you like my comment?'

'I did.' Light rolled over, facing the ceiling, the phone cupped against his shoulder. 'Of all the ways to say it back. You could at least tell me over the phone. Or in person.'

L chuckled. 'I love you.'

The words shocked Light. He said it so offhandedly, so casually.

'Angel?'

'Sorry, I dro-' Light cuts the lie off before it forms. No more of that. 'I...love you too. But aren't you…' How does he phrase it? 'Worried about who they'll think you're talking to?'

'I'm not scared of the law,' L says softly. 'I am the law. _Law_ liet.'

'Please never make such an awful joke again.'

'Fine.' His voice turns upwards for a second with a smile before dropping again.

'I just…' Light fiddled with the worn and ragged case, stripping off ribbons of plastic. 'I mean, it could be worse. It's not like we'd be actively hunted-that sounds like a Bond movie, shoot me-it's only if-'

'The law,' L phrased delicately, 'can _suck me off-'_

'L!'

'It's not that illegal,' L agrees with a chuckle, falsely innocent once again. 'Not unless...well, if it bothers you, I'm in the alleyway right now. Nobody can hear us.'

'My father is an officer,' Light admits, almost shamefully. The implications of both their words pull at the threads of his mind and reweave them in a pattern that excites and scares him.

'I think I've heard of him. Soichiro Yagami?' L asks. The audio rattles along with a vehicle roaring by.

'Yeah. He's quite traditional,' Light replies, fiddling with his bed sheets, trying to sound offhand. L is quiet for a long while. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle.

'You haven't told him everything about yourself, have you.' It's a statement.

'No.'

'Will you?'

Light hesitates. 'I have to.'

'You never really have to do anything, Light. There's always a way. The choice is which one hurts you less.'

They're both quiet for a moment before L breaks it. 'Thank you for saving me the trouble of asking, anyways. Although asking would have posed much less risk to my overall sanity than…'

'Kissing me in the rain after flirting with me for weeks and asking me repeatedly out on dates?' Light asked, smiling.

'To be fair, you asked me out half the time,' L rebukes, sounding slightly flustered.

'Regardless.'

0o0o0o

L flips his phone from hand to hand and shields the audio when a truck rumbles in. Sayu probably thinks he has a smoking habit from all his ducking out by now. Texting, phone calls. L decides not to kill the rumor if it ever crops up. It's a habit, definitely, but it'll kill his mind long before his body.

'The first time was completely platonic,' L says.

'I'm not so sure,' Light teases. There is morning in his voice, full of remnants of dreams and reminiscent of groggy sunshine. His hair must be sticking up along the side where he slept on it, bangs sludged across his forehead, and the idea makes L smile.

'At least a little bit platonic.'

'Maybe.' The bed groans on the other end and the blankets rustle. Lazy mornings.

'I think we were just too arrogant, or focused on…' Light makes a noise of derision, but it breaks into amusement. 'You know.'

'We were just being us.' He's surely smiling like an idiot, and Sayu's probably coming to interrupt him soon. L doesn't care. Light's voice is roughened from sleep and has a rhythm like swirling constellations; perfect, patterned, and he'll never really figure it out in a thousand years and it's better just to enjoy that.

'Mmm.' It's quiet. Then Light does this happy little 'huh' noise that's more exhalation than real voice and L's chest feels all funny, and he suddenly, desperately wants Light next to him again.

'I love you. You and all our bullheaded caution.' He thinks about how Light could say many things back about the suddenness or the ridiculousness of that statement or how that's very not them, whatever they are.

'I love you too, dork.'

'Nerd.'

'It's not very nice to call your boyfriend that,' Light teases.

'What?'

'Goodbye, L.' The line goes dead.

'Goodbye…?' L pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at the message left behind. The word made it...real, somehow. Light's words did that. Made him more real.

Sayu pushes the door open and squints at him.

'Are you-'

'Preemptively,' L interrupts, 'no.'

0o0o0o

**From: Light**

: Is eight good?

**From: L**

: Bit late to ask at 7:50, isn't it?

**From: Light**

: I'll rephrase. Right now, I am driving to your house. Do I get welcomed or not?

**From: L**

: Obviously you do

The doorbell rings immediately after that. L swings open the door incredulously and Light gives him a cocky wave. His car is silent and parked down the street, enough that the noise wouldn't be suspicious.

'I may have waited until I was standing outside to ask you.'

'Obviously,' L grumbles. 'And for the future-weird risks for the dramatic impact are my thing.'

'Of course, Lawliet.' Light suddenly straightens with remembrance. 'I have music for you.'

'Please don't tell me it's a mixtape on vinyl or something. I don't have a record player,' L warns. Light makes a face and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

'Just a playlist,' he says, pulling off the headphones with one of his unknowingly brilliant smiles.

'Thanks,' L replies too late, and blushes.

Light gives him one last grin before clicking a few more times-the fucking settings are shot, he complains, keeps turning up the volume. Finally it is adjusted to his satisfaction, and he presses Play on the first song.

'I'm going to re-educate your apparently non-existent sense of music,' he declares. 'We've never discussed it. Ever. I blame that on the fact that you,' Light points, silently mouthing the lyrics to this song that for some ridiculous reason, uses clapping as a beat, 'insist on talking about serial killers instead.'

'Shoot me, I find them interesting,' L says, and Light laughs, beautiful and wild and ironic in the best way, and pulls him closer and kisses him, fierce and electrifying.

L decides that maybe the song isn't so bad after all.

0o0o0o

'I recognize this song,' L says suddenly, halfway through the playlist. 'It was the one playing that first night, and it's completely emo rock, and judging by the sheer amount of angsty lyrics and keytar I've heard over the last hour-'

'Twenty minutes!'

'Hour, you probably had an emo phase in…' L squints playfully. 'Eighth grade.'

'Shut up.'

'No, no, it was...seventh,' L taunts gleefully. 'I'm guessing dyed hair, online blog, hipster posts, and a poetry kink, all of which you have unfortunately kept.'

'My hair is not dyed!' Light retorts, shoving L in the shoulder.

' _Anymore_ …'

'I will bury you in these blankets.'

'Come on,' L coaxes. The song continues in the background, they're curled up on his old leather couch, and Light's back is pressed into the cushions. This is perfect.

Light finally relents. 'Red highlights. Home job. It looked terrible.' Red highlights. His parents probably-definitely didn't approve. It's perfect, _he's_ perfect.

And L tells him so, mouthing the words through the kiss, ' _I love you and your secret poetry kink and your blog that you still run with all of your aesthetic posts and your horrible home job red-highlighted hair_ ,' and neither of them can breathe quite right but it's the best kind of breathlessness.

Light runs his fingers through L's hair and whispers back, ' _I love you and your ideas of conversation topics and your gray eyes and the way you call me_ angel' and L leans over to play their song and the sunlight is fading and everything is so absolutely right with the world.

_And sometimes I have to remind myself that he is just human, that he is not an angel with wings forged from sparks like the ones that breathe up in tongues from firewood, no matter how much I believe that his touch will burn me up one day. He might be more than, stitched together from August cloudbursts and heavenly voices, but he is human in the end._

_Human as the music and the city's stars and all our faults and flaws_ , perfect, perfect, perfect.

0o0o0o

He shouldn't have responded to the email. But everything was blurring by so fast, and he was constantly falling, falling, falling down to the boy with brown eyes and so many words.

It had been nearly eleven when Light had left with a backwards glance, a smirk and the invitation 'Our usual, Monday?'. L had felt invincible, somewhere high above the world where nobody from Wammy's detective agency could ever reach him. That feeling was dangerous. Without feeling pain, one could walk into a fire and talk carelessly about menial things as they burned away, all unknowingly.

That feeling was so very, very addictive, because a break from pain was what every human strived for. And if you found a way to get it, brown eyes and words on fire, you'd keep going back, keep walking over coals to get to it, keep writing messages to the people who'd kicked you out after you'd refused to take a case everyone knew you could solve.

**To: M, N, W, one other**

**Subject:**

I would like a chance to talk. Please meet me outside the headquarters of my last case tomorrow at seven AM.

-L

_Send_

Barely seconds later, the reply appeared. They must have composed it in advance. L nearly laughed-apparently he was easy to predict-before he opened the email and frowned.

**From: M, N, W, one other**

**Subject:**

Bring your notes on the Kira Case.

-M, N, W, m

At least they knew he was still in love with the chase.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve become rather fond of music pieces with crescendos-you know the ones, the ones that swell and sing and make your chest too full, and then it all breathes back out and is gone. 
> 
> :: Bookstores at closing time, where you don't really want to run out


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find patterns to go by for their new definitions.

How do you say ' _Hello, again_ '? L would be the first to admit he didn't know, but that was for people you kept running into over the course of a day or a friend you'd amicably drifted from. ' _Hello, again_ ' was for Light, maybe. It was not for people you'd walked out on. But he says it anyways.

'Hello, again.'

'Is that all I get?' Nate smiles thinly.

Watari looks up and L's stomach jolts in the worst way, the _I-know-I-messed-up_ way. Even now, his disapproval-disappointment?-carries weight. L waits for what he has to say. The other two are nowhere in sight.

'I'm glad you arrived on time' is all he says, and L knows he will not speak again.

How do you talk to people you used to know? It seems so easy when old friends start to joke again in the supermarket, or a woman waves hello to a high school sweetheart. Of course, they are never like this. L's split was anything but friendly, and the wounds (at least on him) still rubbed raw.

'I received the email with your notes,' Nate says. L wordlessly nods. The boy-now a young man, becoming a creature of all angles and hollows from too much time with his toys and his stress-checks his phone again, scanning the profiles and guesses L has stitched together from newspaper articles and gossip in the cafe. And Light. 'I'll look over it back in headquarters. You always had that touch, Lawliet. That daring, absolutist, personal approach. I wish you'd have stayed.'

'Thank you.' Neither of them mean it.

How do you say the things that need to be said? Revenge, hatred, dismissal, all packaged up, neat and tidy. Nate and Mihael and Mail and Wammy, they all need to hear those words (his lies).

_What is your obsession with ends?_ Wammy has asked him after he'd forced a case open again and again until he saw her body. _What is your love for escorting anything you touch to it's finish?_

L's mind turns to Light, and all the things he doesn't know. All the things L hides and will hide from him until the unsaid truth dies with his last breath. L will hold words, all the words he needs to say, all of Light's words inside of him until they scream to be released and eat at his insides like poison.

The only thing that cannot be hidden is the truth, or so the proverb says. _How do you say things that need to be said?_

L wants to walk away and keep walking until the asphalt turns to grass and he sits down on their hill and waits for the clouds to split open again.

He's lost to them. The children who's entire existences were devoted to picking up the pieces when he died. L admits that on a dirty city sidewalk in a morning full of heat and dust. He lost to them when he dropped the seventeen-year-old serial killer case, he lost to them when he sent that email, he lost to them just by being here, assisting another case of the exact type he swore he would never touch again. He's lost, so why not lose a bit more? Or so the poker rules in the bars he used to frequent say.

How do you say goodbye? With Light, it is a promise to meet again in the cafe with the best cake, always always always. L doesn't know how to say goodbye without saying 'Next time', and it will inevitably slip out of his mouth for someone who says 'Goodbye' instead of 'Goodnight' and he fears more than anything that he won't even notice.

(L will believe, and desperately, that goodbye is just a wish to meet again, however loud the speaker intends it.)

L might not know how to say goodbye, but he knows what it isn't, and turning and starting towards their hill with words dead in his throat and all the warning of his walkout is not goodbye. He doesn't know what it is, but it is not goodbye and he does not intend it to be one.

He researches the Kira Case sitting on the hill with the morning burning off, and brings what he found up the next day. He doesn't mention Near and his glittering eyes, and when Light is speaking so excitedly about his theories and his profiles, he can just say he forgot. Light has that effect on him, anyways.

L doesn't think or breathe in or out or plan, he just hopes, hopes, hopes that Light won't be too angry when he finally speaks. He will. He always has around this angel.

0o0o0o

The first time is almost a tease, a suggestion that he thinks a second before it slips out, and the tang lingers, sharp and bitter. L wants to say it's the opposite of Light, but it's too similar for his taste.

The cafe is no longer a place to stay. It's not enough to satisfy their words, which have found new levels they refuse to release easily. It's a rendezvous at best, a precursor to the hill or one of their houses (L makes fun of the clutter on Light's desk, and tries to read what he leaves out).

'Please do not be the kind of person who announces two-week anniversaries,' L warns. The playlist had been updated to fit his 'typical emo indie hipster music taste', or so Light called it (frequently), and L catches snippets of the lyrics when he leans back.

'I'm not. At least, I doubt I am. Been a while since…' He frowns.

'So, by any chance could I know who you got of-'

'Lawliet, the next time you make such a tasteless joke, I will key your horrid car. Put it out of its misery.'

'Nice turn of the conversation,' L chuckled. 'Been a while for me too. The last guy was a year ago?' Three months.

Light didn't say anything, and L refused to meet his eye for a few seconds before saying 'Sorry.'

'I had a highschool girlfriend,' Light says casually. 'Not my favourite experience.'

'So it has been a while. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you, angel,' L promises with a wink and a grin, and they soon fall almost (almost) seamlessly back into their usual rhythm.

_I'll take care of you as best I can. Unfortunately, that's not very good, and I'm known for not being allowed to take care of precious things lest I break them_.

0o0o0o

The second time, a few days later, it was an accident in the same way the first was, his fingers hesitating a second longer on Send before the words became real.

**From: L**

: I don't know about the barista, she looks like she'll behead me if I drag you in at ten thirty again

**From: Ligh** t

: That's unrelated. I'll say she's an acquaintance. I'm pretty sure you aren't a literal social ghost, Lawliet.

**From: L**

: You'd be surprised. Next, I don't know. I met a guy in a bar once

Out, real. When they are simply letters, symbols in a smaller window on his phone, ready to be changed with a touch, they are harmless. L could write anything in the drafts of an email with no subject, it is the Send that makes the symbols words and gives the sentences voice. It is Light's voice that makes sounds hurt and cut and lift him up to the highest heaven (and they could cast him down).

**From: Light**

: Attractive?

L wants to tell the truth, to say _Yes, dark long hair and the most peculiar brown eyes, almost red. Rough hands and rough voice and a persuasive touch like silk. We made small talk until we snuck away to find a hotel room with cigarette burns on the sheets and he took me, and when I woke up he sat at the end of my bed in a bird's crouch and said he'd decided to stay. And so he did, for two weeks. He never kissed me._

Why? No reason to, many reasons why. He just wants to, wants to see what Light will (do?) say. L doesn't want to ruin this. Whatever it is. Light may have said _boyfriend_ and _I love you_ into the phone in an alleyway, and L has said the latter back since then, but it still seems fragile. Maybe even more so because of, in spite of their words. Words, bolstering things, safety nets, but not even Light's voice can lie away the truth (or can it? L wants to find out).

So L holds this trembling thing in his hands like a bird, or a glass sculpture. His hands itch to crush it, to drop it, even though he knows he takes no pleasure from the sound of breaking things.

And he'll have to clean up. Or he could just run away and blame the bird for not flying when it had the chance, the sculpture for being too beautiful not to touch.

**From: L**

: I wouldn't know. He was one shot away from alcohol poisoning and I had to force him into a taxi for home. Drunkards aren't my type

0o0o0o

L doesn't mention anyone he's taken before for a long time after that. Call it sobering up after flirting too closely with death, call it knowing when to pull back from the edge. Call it self-preservation, the only thing that occasionally wins out over L's great love, through all the pretty eyes and prettier bodies he's picked up at bars and late at night (he does not choose the confused-eyes-wonderful-voice ones or the starry park ones, those ones are everything opposite of the single nights he needs, where both think of others to fill the gaps; why is he here with one right here right now, why is this one so perfect), his love of self-destruction.

0o0o0o

Light had thought once, many hours ago, that L Lawliet was undefinable, and if there was any truth in whatever they were, it was that. That and L's bitter throwaway words about a depressed overachiever and a runaway drunkard; yes, Light had found those to be his safety nets in the style of _I-shouldn't-be-disappointed_. Not by choice, of course. If he'd had the ability to choose something to hold onto in a mess of stars and gray eyes, it would be something like mutual need, something so much more solid than love.

If he could have chosen love and known instead of hoped it was a foothold against the tides, he would have. L Lawliet was everything, and his moods changed with the city's stars. He was a sharp truth in a world of sugared lies and Light loved him for that.

He was confusing and chaotic and taken Light's hand to jump, to tear away his armor of textbook problems and whisper in his ear, low and rough, ' _Imagine how the world looks from space, a million million miles away_.'

' _Do you see it?_ '

_'Tell me now, angel, where's your textbooks with their ruler-lined words and their problems that always have one answer, clear as day in black ink and white paper?_ '

Light had to admit he didn't know. L had laughed and spun around on top of their hill like they really were a million million miles away from Earth, until he got dizzy and collapsed and pulled Light down with him.

Eyes close together, lying on their aching sides and hands entangled. L's hair was messy, so messy, Light reached up to brush it away from that gray.

' _Nowhere_. It doesn't matter when you've run away. You're too far to care anymore.' L released his hands and turned to the sky and horizon. For a second, it looked like he would scream the next words, but he whispered them instead, 'So just keep running running running, angel, and I'll be waiting at the end.'

It was times like those when Light loved him so fiercely it hurt.

(Falling for someone undefinable was lovely, but sometimes it was not.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’re more accidental than deliberate in matters of the heart, a strange contrast to their minds. 
> 
> Let me ask you if they deal in black and white or not. 
> 
> :: The colour of the sky in the middle of the night and the middle of a city, too bright and too infinite and too unreal


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world burns quietly.

Lovely (laughing and burning, up up up like thin twists of smoke in the sky) or not, he was L. Infuriating, changing, perfect L. Light focused on that when thoughts clashed inside his head and the aftermath only revealed the truth. Two others, at least. Both times had been accidental but casual as the same time, so they still lingered on his mind often enough to be spoken when at ease.

Think of the sunlight and how it brings out the raven-feather colours in his hair ( _I met a guy in a bar once_ ), how it reflects blues more than any other colour ( _the last guy was a year ago?_ ); bird wings, angel wings.

The way he he delivered the lines was so deliberate, too, as if he wanted Light to know. The unbidden thought brought old sayings to mind, and Light discarded them quickly. Maybe he just didn't want to forget.

At least two, Light thinks in a daze. He should be doing something, but the idea swirls in his head, and his fingers itch to solve it, graph exactly how L remembers and forgets, wondering if it is as regular as the tides or if some memories stick forever. Lodge like shards of glass in his feet when he steps into the shallows to watch the ocean that tides too long to remember or slices up his hands when he scrabbles to recall a face, how a voice sounded from the loose sand on the shore for the only purpose of throwing it back in.

Maybe L thinks that he can cut himself into tiny pieces and lock the ones he wants to forget or doesn't want seen behind doors. That time will wear those broken shards down to sea glass so they'll be softer and he can pick them up safely when he comes back. Maybe he sought others, any others as a way to make the edges rounded and smooth down the cracks. Light doesn't know how to tell him that doing things like that do nothing but sharpen already painful memories, that every person you use in that way (and every person you ever loved) will take a bit of your heart for themselves (some tear it out in its entirety), and if they give anything back, it will be less than what is needed to fill the new wound, let alone the one you came to heal.

(Lovely or not, he was L)

0o0o0o

L was sprawled out on his bed, lazily watching the ceiling fan spin. His thoughts were a mess, his head was a mess, his relationships with everyone he now or had once cared about-messy, messy, messy.

A rule L had made long ago was _Do not regret_. Do not regret the frantic nights with people he pretends to forget. Do not regret needing them (back). Do not regret walking out and losing his family. Do not regret anything, because regret has always equaled hurt in a definite equation.

He didn't regret Light. Not in the slightest. L regretted the future and how he'd have to live it, and Light was just caught up in that.

It'd be okay.

Maybe it would be best to just get it all over with was running through his head all the time now. Just tell him. What was he so worried about? The news wasn't that bad-just that he had a weird sort of job and slept around a bit.

Light would be mad that he lied, not that he had bad habits.

Why didn't he tell the truth? Light wouldn't have cared (he did it so Light wouldn't look at him like all the rest) and he wouldn't be in this position now (from what sense of misguided self-preservation did he lie from?).

Light might not even be mad. And if he was, maybe they could work through it. He could explain, with all the words that suddenly stalled in his throat, that the past was hard to walk through when you didn't have a silver tongue or words like wildfire.

He wouldn't risk it. Risk was for when you were removed, sitting behind a computer screen, the world knowing nothing but a letter to find you. Risk was for when you were a child and the biggest loss was getting tagged. Risk was what L Lawliet feared, because it was personal and addictive and had so many consequences should you fail the roll of the dice.

He would say it one day. Not in the far future, he knew the words would slip out long before then. But soon, so he'd love Light and knew it was returned for now.

He shouldn't be planning in the terms _for now_ , he shouldn't be thinking _before it ends_. When had it changed to those absolutist terms, anyways?

But why not, anyways?

0o0o0o

Light showed up at ten.

'Hello, dork,' he greeted. 'Do you ever wonder if the barista misses us?'

'I doubt she misses me, but you're pretty easy on the eyes,' L answered, and Light laughed.

'Maybe. We'll have to go back some day.'

'Some day,' L agreed.

They ended up in L's bedroom. Light idly traced the pencil lines on his desk-the pattern had gotten bigger, almost three-quarters filled now. They made small talk for an agonizingly long time, L waiting until Light said what he needed and Light stubbornly staying quiet.

'My dad still doesn't know,' he said suddenly, as casually as a continued conversation. So deliberately careless, the voice everyone lies in. How long had he been waiting to tell?

L internally nodded; of course it was this. They'd been dancing around it for weeks. 'You say it like some people do know.'

'My sister,' Light confessed. 'Sorry.'

L tugged him closer and ran a hand through his hair. 'Don't be. Are...are you going to tell your dad eventually?'

'Of course I will. I'm just going to wait for a bit,' Light said. L was quiet. A breath caught in his chest. 'I'm not-ashamed of us, or anything, L, I just…'

'I'm not mad,' L soothed. 'I don't care who you tell or who you don't. It's okay.' Light closed his eyes and breathed out slowly.

'Thanks.' His weight shifted against L's side. 'I was wanting to say that for a while. I didn't...deliver it well.'

L just laughed. Too many things to say. _I have things to tell you, too, and it's going to be messy and horrible when I do so I'm just going to suppress those words in the back of my throat until they turn into lies_. Hope his laugh sounded better than it did to him.

'Your words are perfect. Even now.'

'They're far from that. If I had perfect words, I'd know how to tell my father. I'd know how to talk around you. I'd have known how to say the things we took far too long to.'

'They're humanly perfect, then, and I wouldn't have given up our chase for anything.'

0o0o0o

The world was quiet. Not awkward silence, or conversational silence. Silence implies the complete absence of noise, and quiet can be ambient noise. Silence blew the world wide open, and made it dark and unfriendly and forbidding. Quiet was intimate.

Light's fingers rustled the pages of a book, pointing out phrases and sentences. They'd taken it at random from one of the bookshelves, and now lay on L's bed, heads bent over the words.

'Look,' Light says, and takes his hand to press a fingertip to a particular sentence. L looks, and mouths the words. Quiet, the world is quiet as it should be. There is no need to play louder games when the sparks they find between their fingers are enough.

'I don't think I'd ever read that before,' Light says when they reach the last page. L runs a finger along his knuckles and up his arm, down his back.

'That's because all you do is study. You need to let go sometimes.'

'Sometime…' Light catches his hand. The pencil calluses are even more pronounced now.

'Promise you'll put down your textbooks someday. Permanently.'

Light meets his eyes with a steady gaze. 'I have to.'

' _Promise_ you will,' L insists. Light hesitates, and his face shadows for a second. It lifts a second later.

'I promise.'

There is an odd sort of tension among them. Between the weight of Light's studies and L's lies, between their need to be rivals first and whatever-they-are-now second, a safety net is a fantasy. There is no such thing as catch-me when you're teetering on the brink of telling.

L runs a hand over Light's hip and realizes with a pang that they've never been closer. Light doesn't move away when he does.

'What do you think about, Lawliet?' he murmurs. 'When the world is dark-tell me, what are your nightmares?'

L presses closer into him, trying to be more careful than he is, wanting just a bit more (is it enough yet?). Too many things is the only answer that would serve.

'Everything.'

His laugh is a shudder in his chest, almost caught. 'It's going to be hard to save you from everything.'

Then don't try, don't try, don't reach for the stars and burn up.

'As long as you try.'

'I will,' and this kiss is harder and desperate, it speaks of continuing until the sky turns to colour again; it offers a promise and of course L accepts. Why not?

0o0o0o

If this is the last time before L tells, so be it (how could it be more perfect? A thousand ways). And he will not regret it.

He will not regret Light. It would be an insult to him. He will not regret this night full of skin on skin and heat. He will not look back except in memory. Light will keep breathing (without him) and he will not regret: that is what makes them them and it is what has brought them here, tangled in one of their beds while the stars swirl overhead. And they will not regret.

He really is beautiful.

Beautiful, naive, childish, tunnel-visioned. Light is Light and he is made of words and pretty eyes and secret poems online. He is made of stars. So utterly obsessed with everything he threw himself into- _you'll never escape the chains you forged yourself, angel, and you will regret making them so strong in the future when your wings chafe against them_. Bright and brilliant and everything else; _he takes everything seriously_.

Why can't L take anything seriously?

(I'm so sorry)

There is some mutual knowledge between both of them, something that says not the first time even as they forge promises in shaking hands. And that's okay, L thinks, that's okay because the less he takes from Light the better, the less he'll hurt over when L finally speaks. The more any of this is just for tonight, the better.

(He's going to tell him)

He'll want more, though. He does want more than that, than before. He wants a repeat of this and a repeat of the way they met. He wants to try again but there is no such thing. He wishes, though, wishes and whispers 'I love you'.

(When he wakes up from his nightmare)

It will have to be enough.

(It should be enough)

Light deserves the world, L decides. Really, he does. But he'll keep himself behind a desk and write words instead of speaking them. _Angel, I wanted to give you the whole world and I forgot I couldn't, you'd never allow yourself to take my hand to_.

(It has to be enough, he's going to do it, he has to face it)

Back bent, head thrown back in ecstasy. He _burns_. The world is quiet except for their gasps, the _world_ is _burning_.

_And he'll take it_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever felt like you’re falling? Does the terror of the aftermath make you step more carefully, no matter how well you know where you are? 
> 
> :: The kind of rage that is helpless and cruel


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L breaks.

' _So. The angel's got fire_.'

That's what he had said so long ago (what? A few months? Too fast; he didn't care). And he did, he did, L thought. He did, certainly; he was so much more than L was expecting, maybe more than he was prepared to handle, to touch.

L would have liked to say that Light looked peaceful in sleep. If he leaned forward, and saw the sun falling in patterns on their entangled bodies instead of what lay underneath that veil, L could convince himself. He wished Light looked peaceful when he slept.

Last night had been…

Wonderful. And terrifying. Mostly just sobering, in all too many ways.

Right. It had felt right.

'Hello, angel,' L said, tracing a finger along his skin, the dips of his muscles, the notches of his spine. Burn in a bit of his touch while he still could. 'I love you, you know.'

'I love you too, Lawliet,' Light mumbled, cracking an eye against the bright sun. L managed a smile.

'You're awake.'

'Brilliant observation.' Light groaned and sat up, gently twining his fingers with L's. 'Last night was…'

'I didn't expect to go that far,' L admitted. At Light's look, he corrected. 'It was-you were amazing, don't get me wrong. It's just…'

'I know.' Light leaned over and kissed him gently, so tenderly that L's _tell-him-now_ resolve almost shattered entirely. Too cruel, even though he could.

'I guess we're not really rivals anymore,' L said. Were they? He didn't want to decide.

'We are.' Light smiled softly. 'Just...equal ones. No playing each other unknowingly or anything like that. Promise me.'

'I promise,' L said obligingly, and Light laughed. That alone was worth it.

So L let this beautiful young man lead him out of bed and help him make breakfast and all the while, thought what if I didn't tell him. It was tempting, oh, it was so tempting.

His angel offered a different path, and he almost accepted, maybe he did for seconds and minutes. Standing there, it was too cruel. He never expected this and now he was...caught? Yes, caught up in red gossamer threads; _angel, you didn't tell me that this is how you'd kill me._

(Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised; his Light was always an overachiever. L should have know he wouldn't have settled for something as simple as a stopped heart)

Light's laugh rang through the kitchen at eight AM on a Friday, and L fell in love all over again a million times. It hadn't hurt this much-it was never supposed to hurt this much-not the first time, at least. Falling _back_ in love was so much worse.

0o0o0o

Light wasn't paying attention when he drove. His head was a wonderful mess, a perfect storm. Undefinable, unfathomable, lovely L Lawliet with gray eyes and raven hair.

Tomorrow, at their usual place. Their usual route, really. L had given this soft sort of smile when Light had asked, and agreed in a voice as quiet as a brush on skin. So he did have other sides. Sides that would laugh in the park, watching things. Quieter sides.

He deserved quiet. To sleep well, or to simply lay away and daydream. Life was too full of ambient noise, and so people tried and tried to escape. Halfway across the world only to find it (after a while) there, too. From place to place, running and running. To the tops of mountains, hoping the buzz wasn't there in the thinner air. Some tried to drown it in other people's voices or the blur of wealth, in heady fumes and bottles. But sometimes, the noise just disappeared around someone, because they made no room for the rest of the world.

Quiet was them on their hill, watching stars. Quiet was someone else's arms after the burning culmination of a rivalry and a friendship and too many nights.

Wonder what tomorrow would be like?

0o0o0o

L waited until the car disappeared around the corner and no longer before crumpling.

He had to tell Light, or the guilt would eat him alive. He was going to, that's what he had sworn with every touch last night-he'd enjoyed it too much. But he had to tell, and out of all the promises, he was going to keep this one if it killed him. Maybe it would.

Cruel, his mind whispered, but he shut it out. He was only as cruel as the world. God, his head hurt. He wanted...He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to ruin anything. He wanted this perfect confusing thing with Light. But he had to go and ruin it, he had to break it. Honour, honour, honour and pride and fear, that's what was ruining him now and always would, always had. He would not back out, wouldn't let himself, couldn't let himself.

What was wrong with him?

 _You promised_ he repeats as he pulls open the cupboard and then the bottle with shaking hands. He'd bought this in a weak moment and he'd hated it.

_Don't think of that._

The taste is horrible and not nearly sweet enough and so very not Light (he needs Light, he needs his guardian angel to rip the bottle from his hands and make him promise never to do it again, he is not strong enough to do it by himself for himself) but he needs this more, and when he comes back, he's gasping. His throat is thick and his mind is too full, so he does the only thing that stops the madness and tips the bottle up again and again and again until the burn is nothing but water and his mind is not as full anymore.

A sort of calmness steals over L, and he carefully deposits the bottle in the recycling. He'd do it. Light deserved to know. Light deserved more than him. Light deserved the entire world, and L could only give him the imitation of the stars.

0o0o0o

'Matsuda?' L asked. 'Can you cover my shift this morning? Just for an hour or two, maybe? Thanks.'

On the other end, Matsuda put down the phone, sighed, and redialed. He knew that tone of voice.

'Sayu here.'

'Ryuzaki won't be in today. Sick. Maybe don't expect him tomorrow, either.'

'He's been weird lately. Ever since…'

'I know, Sayu.' Matsuda pressed his lips together. 'I think he'll get better.'

'I don't think Ryuzaki has a 'better',' Sayu snorted. 'But he's a good guy. Bitter and lonely and defensive, but good.'

'Yeah.' Matsuda closed his eyes. L's voice replayed in his head. Slurred drunk, stubborn and determined and angry. He'd been that way the first week, when he had come in and demanded a job. He'd revealed a lot in a few years. Matsuda had thought he'd gotten better. 'You'll let him?'

''Course I will.'

'Good. Thanks.'

'Yeah, yeah.' Matsuda smiled. 'Bye.'

'Bye.'

0o0o0o

L woke up in a cold sweat and fumbled for the lamp. There was nothing breathing next to him when he'd woken up. He'd almost forgotten the feeling until last night.

Last night and the morning after. L grimaced. It was barely a hangover, but he had slept through his night shift. It was a miracle they hadn't fired him yet. Matsuda was probably used to his…

Switching topics again, L turned to his words. Tonight. There was no _he had to_ anymore, it was a simple fact, as regular as the sun and stars.

0o0o0o

 _Cruel_ , the word sings through his blood and buzzes through his head. L wonders (hopes?) that the people he passes can see it branded onto his irises, seared into his tongue, written all over his skin in blue ink. It would be a just punishment.

'Hello, angel,' he calls. The nickname is bitter in his mouth. Light turns and smiles (it is like the first night) and points up at the clouds overhead.

'Do you think it'll rain?'

'I hope not,' L answers, settling in beside him. His body heat seeps into L's side and he shivers, so close (he will not be able to bear it if the sky cracks open again, they call them the tears of the gods).

'You're _frozen_ -why? I swore you liked rain.'

'I do, but I want to see the stars tonight.'

'Reasonable,' Light laughs, and twines his fingers in L's. L looks down at them with a jolt in his stomach. All these things to- _he has to-_ lose.

'Angel?'

'Lawliet?'

One last time, L reaches up and adjusts the drawstrings. Light's hand brushes his, taking notice but not caring (I wish I was like you).

'Light, I've been meaning to tell you something.' (I wonder, is it easy being you)

Maybe it is the use of his name and not _angel_ that makes him look over, but finally he does and his eyes make L's chest tight and painful (it is exactly like the first night).

'L?'

'I was a detective a while ago,' L starts (maybe he won't be angry). 'I was never an accountant, though.'

'L, I…' Light breaks off and shakes his head, his grip squeezes tighter for a second (all my overreactions were for nothing).

'And I did not get kicked out of my family for the reason I told you.'

Light's eyes are a mess. They are a mess, sitting here under the rain clouds (of course they are rain clouds) and the human-made stars. They are messy and their relationship is messy and all L knows how to do is rake his hands through it again.

'How much else did you lie about?' Light whispers. His voice, his voice is flat and alien.

L closes his eyes and their conversations swirl around and through him. Why, why _why why why._

'All of it, then.’ Curl of the lip. 'Show me your world. Can you, even?'

When did Light let go of his hand? His angel throws his head back and laughs, and the sound seems to bounce off the buildings and echo in the clouds. His eyes are insane (it is, they are like this).

'What is true about you, L Lawliet?' His eyes fade into cold anger. 'Why did you lie to me?'

'My name is L Lawliet. I worked for a detective company. I quit. I do not know my parents. After I ran away, I started a habit of picking people up for a night-'

(The strains of their music)

(Their song makes so much, so much sense)

'Why did you _lie to me!?_ ' Light howls, hands too tight in L's shirt. His hair lies in spikes against his forehead (when did it start raining?).

'I don't know.'

Because there really is no reason to his madness except Light's words and voice and eyes and Light, Light is his anchor in their perfect storm.

It is as if the sound of the wind ceases with the anger in his eyes, replaced by a blank stare and silence.

(Everything is so, so wrong)

'L Lawliet, who did I fall in love with?'

The words, the words that will tell Light what happened, that L was himself for the first time around this beautiful boy, that if he loves him then he saw the real L, that it was nothing but who he was-the words don't come.

'All my white lies, all my harmless words were just meant to make you happy,' L whispers.

'Happy.' Light smiles, but it is not Light in those eyes. 'You wanted to keep me happy. Was it to pick me up for a night like all the rest?'

'No-'

'I fell in love with...you,' Light whispers. L flinches back. His eyes are cold and his hands are colder. 'With someone who decided to treat me like a child, to play me for no reason _I thought we didn't do that!'_

(He doesn't understand)

(Because the words won't come)

They were a mistake. A wonderful mistake, a horrible mistake. They brought down the sky and all L can do is stare.

'We didn't do that,' Light repeats softly. L breathes out. His head is suddenly pushed back into the wet grass. The smell of petrichor is everywhere. It sticks in his throat.

Light always smelled a little bit like petrichor, like the world when it seems quietest, and L knows that he'll long for and hate the rain and the stars forever, because they belong to a boy with poetry in his hands and voice and loathing in his eyes. They are not his, not anymore, and never will be again. He should have taken pictures of Light's smile, but they flashed too quickly for cameras.

His eyes are close and his grip hurts and L tries to memorize and to remember, for future days, reminiscing about what he broke (himself).

'I hate you.'

Light pushes himself off the ground and stands above him, soaked and messy. His mouth says _I hate you_ in a thousand ways-things were easier before you, I wish I'd never met you-but his eyes say it even more.

 _Cruel_ , L thinks. It is all he can. Some part inside tells him to fix it, just as it tells him to fix all that cannot be mended.

'Angel-'

'Do not,' Light whispers, 'call me that.'

He doesn't bother to turn around when he leaves.

L is left behind, staring up at the sky. The rain falls towards him, around him. It feels like falling. He leans back into the earth and closes his eyes.

(It is so exactly, exactly like their first night)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a quiet and slow forging of who they are together and a louder and too fast breaking of what they built. 
> 
> :: Words spilling unbidden from your mouth onto pages or into voice


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky burns less than quietly.

That night, they drown.

Light runs home with the rain in his eyes and in his hair and down his throat when he tries and fails to breathe. Blind and deaf and terrified-angry, not caring when the cars are blurs in the puddles too close for comfort, when the rain runs down his back as he runs in an empty place, tilting his head up to look at the heavens and laughs bitterly, bitterly, bitterly, regretting until his voice is gone and regretting that, too.

L had whispered that he'd loved Light's voice.

And then he just runs. The pain falls away, piece by piece, memory by memory. Light leaves them in the roar of water against the sidewalks, wraps them in (teardrops) raindrops and hangs them from the low boughs of trees. He'll come back for them later, when the wounds are not quite as raw, and pretend they don't smell just a little bit more like petrichor.

He runs until he thinks he'll faint. He runs until the rain drowns him, allows all his thoughts to float to the top as he sinks into dreams of raven hair and the darkest gray eyes he's ever seen. He runs until he is nothing but the rain and the rain is him.

And then Light stops, and blinks the dewdrops from his eyelashes, and numbly starts home.

0o0o0o

L drowns in rain. It patters against his face, his chest, a second heartbeat, a third, a million million hearts all through the earth around him. It makes his chest hurt and thrum and sing.

Quietly, he repeats cruel. As he gets up, as he feels his clothes stick to him with rain. As he goes home and then it hits him, standing in the middle of his kitchen, crumpled into that cheap white IKEA table. _Do not regret_ was his rule, but what use was it? He did regret. He regretted everything.

Light's smile, his surprised laugh, his eyes, the way he kissed, his poetry and his blog and his voice. Gone, gone, gone and he'd be standing at the edges trying to recapture them forever, trying to fill the hole Light had ripped in his chest. It always ended like this. L was looking for a million things. Cigarette smoke and old bedsheets, reddish wood in the dark and swirling drinks, red paint and tripping as you run away and a million other pieces he'd taken from everyone he'd picked up. He added petrichor and poetry and voice and stars to that list, and they finalized the deal, Light is gone.

L has always dealt in the insatiable need humans have to destroy themselves, and his clients always pay more than they can.

L wants to scream. He wants to crack the seal on a bottle and sit down at that memory-stained table and forget. But there are no more bottles left in the house, and that should have been enough to send him to sleep instead of back out into the rain, to the little store nobody else will be at, to the case of whatever's closest and to the nearly smirking man at the front. It should have been enough and once, it might have been.

'Back for more?' he asks. L twists up inside.

'Always.'

Light is everywhere in his head, mocking with gentle touches and words. Pet names, their cafe, their stars their hill his _angel_ ; it all crashes through L's mind and he howls to match the voice he will no longer hear. He needs to get Light out of his head because that is what caused all this, the way L couldn't stop thinking about him.

The first bottle makes him choke and cough and Light is still telling stories in his mind.

The second numbs his voice, and so L breaks open two more, drowns himself twice more. He needs it to work. It always has before. He needs to forget Light when it would be easier to tear himself to shreds, and so he does.

At three AM, it does. L can't remember the brush of Light's skin against his. He regrets that. He keeps drinking, and returns to the little store for more, until he remembers nothing, knows nothing, for a perfect, perfect moment. He regrets that, too.

They drown together and a million miles apart, and it is the worst kind of wonderful.

0o0o0o

_Eight months later_

L doesn't check his email. Nate keeps sending him something, but the messages have no subject and he's beyond terrified to know what they say. So he lets them sit and takes some small, worthless victory in his defiance.

Numbly, he tries to wonder what Light is doing. It isn't nearly as bad now. In the first few weeks, it clawed him up from the inside, and the alcohol only made the monster sleep. The drinking killed everything else, and so L feared the strength of the beast that cried and raged in his chest.

It has been a year since he met a beautiful boy in the little store nobody else goes to and called him angel, a year since that boy grabbed his hand and told him _meet me_ and then asked _Saturday?_ It has been ten months since they kissed in the rain and that boy whispered _I love you_. It has not been a year since that boy whispered _I hate you_.

But it has been a year since some things, and it is August again.

When L shows up for work on Friday night, there is a boy standing by cashier number nine, holding a jar of peanut butter.

'Lawliet.'

Only one person has ever called him _Lawliet_.

'Hello, angel.'

Light's smile twists into a snarl. 'You still aren't allowed to call me that.'

L nods silently. It's fair. What's not fair is Light, how he shows up when he wants and destroys, how he expects L to pick up the conversation they ended. Of course, they have never been fair.

'Come with me,' Light instructs. L digs into his pocket for change for the register and follows him out.

The smoker's alley is how it always has been-should be-with bricks and dirty pavement and graffiti making a storm of colour with the epicentre being Light. Once, Light's voice was in his hand and told L he loved him in this exact spot. Once, Light was here, sharp and sarcastic and brilliant and everything right.

It has been too long since L has heard his voice.

'What did you want to talk about-' he barely catches himself before he adds angel, '-Light?'

'I feel,' Light starts, 'that I'm allowed to break a few of our rules.' His sneer almost contorts into a sob. 'Since your-infatuation? _Fascination_ with me certainly did.'

He knows what Light will say before he says it. It is woven into his speech and his words and the way he holds himself, and L wants to make him stop, not allow this poet to bring the words to reality with his voice.

L has done enough research to know.

'Kira,' he spits, no, he sobs, he breaks, of course he'd say it here, of course he'd throw it in L's face, of all the promises they used to be. Light would do that.

0o0o0o

Light explains how he found out, how he thinks it was in his cup, maybe, how he wonders if L could maybe drive him to the hospital because his vision is blurry and blacking out around the edges and he can barely stand up straight. Isn't he a good actor?

L gives Light the backseat, and he rambles on about how botulinum in certain forms is the chemical they use in Botox, isn't that weird? In others, it's lethal. Just a taste can kill you. It all depends on what and when and why, and if you get it wrong…

...it kills you.

0o0o0o

When they get to the hospital, Light tells them calmly that he will die. He stands and delivers those horrible wrong words with a smirk and a glance back. How he can face his life's end with such poise scares L. He isn't supposed to be calm. He's supposed to want to be alive, it's only human to want to be alive, and he is so terribly, terribly human.

He shouldn't be the one who accepts his death with an ironic smile and a bow. Nobody should; he-

-shouldn't have to die-

-is going to die, he's going to die, and L can do nothing to stop it.

He wants to make Light better with his own clumsy hands, (he wants a drink), he wants to make everything better and give Light the world and stars like he deserves, but it's impossible, impossible like they were together, impossible like they cannot be mended.

0o0o0o

Eight months, Light wants to scream. Instead, he laughs. Laughs at the doctors who take him in without knowing how to cure him, the ones who suspect him as a criminal because who else does Kira kill? Laughs at the people who fight it. He laughs at L, who he knows will hurt so much more than him the entire time. But, Light promises, this is not because you lied. This is because I don't want you to wake up one day with my father's words the ones you hear telling of my death.

He wants L. He wants his dark eyes and raven hair and wants to talk until he forgets that his clock is counting by seconds now (or has it always been?). He needs that, always has.

'The man who came in with me,' he asks a passing nurse. 'Can you bring him in?'

The man presses his lips together. 'I can try.' He disappears. Light waits. Then he comes back, shaking his head.

'Where's L?' Light snaps. Where's the drug that will make everything better, everything a little bit more bearable?

'Your-L is gone.'

Of course he is. Couldn't bear to watch his precious angel suffer. But Light does not resent him for that.

They leave him alone after that-or maybe they don't, and he just can't see them-and Light thinks of L again. Of not what they had done, but what they could have been. He never got to introduce L to his parents, to his father- _I told you about somebody a long time ago, do you remember? They have the most amazing dark gray eyes and they're a genius and perfect and they're everything, and his name is_ L Lawliet _and I think I'm in love with him._

What could have been of them in different circumstances, Light wondered. Where they didn't dance around words and lies long before they were, in the rain, in the rain.

Light closes his eyes and sleeps.

0o0o0o

'I promise,' L hisses. The words are sour in his mouth when they mix with the drink. So many promises, so many words.

A word changed L's life. Saturday was one, Kira was another. He remembers Light's first words and laughs. Light changed L's life. The scholar, the poet, the quiet student with textbook problems instead of alcohol. Of all the people, of all the people, L had to fall in love with that one.

He curses the heavens for allowing them to meet. They never should have been allowed. He shouldn't have been allowed a taste of heaven if he was going to be cast down.

Shouldn't have been, shouldn't have been. Light shouldn't have been allowed to die. He shouldn't have been allowed a boy who wrote and ran and laughed because L would break him. So many things never should have happened, but they did, and all L could do was stand and watch the sky burn above him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you say when the world falls down?
> 
> :: Exhaustion so complete you are almost scared to close your eyes


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quiet things.

There is a hand stroking his forehead, gently pushing his ragged bangs out of his eyes, pulling him from the depths. Light leans into it. _Lawliet…_

(This is how they used to be, and if the only way he can find it is in a fever sleep, so be it)

(Even if L will not be here when he wakes up)

Light allows the hand to continue, and allows himself to fall asleep. If he doesn't open his eyes right then and there to the absence of L, he'll never know if it was a dream or not.

When he does wake up, his family is in the room, and the sight pushes L out of his mind for a precious short while.

0o0o0o

A long time ago, L teased Light about poetry.

(The words come back to him as he drives recklessly; _what if the poison has done its work, what if you were asleep when it happened,_ what if he's already dead)

L pulls over in front of the hospital and scribbles a final line overtop the printed sheets after a moment of hesitation. He slides the papers into his pocket.

0o0o0o

'I need to see him,' L pleads. The nurse looks uncomfortable.

'I think it's family only right now...' She trails off, fidgeting with her scrubs. L can see her sizing him up, thinking of Light, coming to the conclusion that there is no way they're related and that his frantic words are not the words of mere friends. L takes the chance.

'I'm his boyfriend,' L says. It's a desperate shot, but he is, indeed, desperate. The nurse's eyes narrow, then soften marginally.

'I guess I can't...Third door on the right,' she mutters. 'Just knock-his family's there, and they should let you in.'

L doesn't bother knocking. He twists the handle sharply and steps inside, ignoring the confused gazes of the people who must be his father and mother and the shocked look of Sayu. He's looking for Light, but his first reaction to the body in the bed is _that is not Light_.

It's too thin, too pale, too stiff and rigid against the sterile sheets, and it is too _quiet_ to ever be Light Yagami.

But it stirs against the pillows when he comes in, and opens its eyes-Light's eyes-and smiles like a challenge. His eyes are conflicted, every muscle tense.

'Lawliet. I was wondering when you'd come back.'

Six hours and Light has been reduced to a shell. L feels sick. His voice is the same under the drugs and the pain, and it still captivates him like it has always done.

He would do anything that voice commanded, and so he does not refer to Light by _that_ name even in his thoughts.

(His voice that is soon to be silenced)

L crouches.

'Your only instruction was not to call you-that, you never said to leave.'

'I'm glad I didn't,' Light murmurs. 'You would have obeyed. What did you do when you ran away, Lawliet?'

'I continued your poetry.'

Light smiles, and for a second they are back to before.

Then it fades.

'Sayu, could you…?' Light asks, staring at the blankets instead of meeting his father's eye. L feels like he should draw away, that he's gone too far, too quickly (haven't they always?).

'Light,' his father starts, 'can you-'

'Dad.' His father falls silent. 'Fifteen minutes. Please. Then I'll explain everything.'

The door closes behind them with a final click, and Light breathes out, a shuddering sob.

'You came _back_ ,' he whispers reverently, gazing up at L like he's trying to memorize every detail of his face. L crouches immediately, wanting but not daring to run his fingers over this fragile shell, see how much has been taken already. It has been months since they were this close, and L breathes in his scent again. It has been far, far too long.

They have always been apart for too long.

'Of course I did.' L cups his face, strokes his thumb along Light's sweaty forehead. Light closes his eyes and presses into it, his expression pained. 'And you-you held on.'

'Of course I did.'

They sit like that for precious seconds before Light opens his eyes.

'You said you continued my poetry.'

'That was an accident,' L admits.

'Of course they were. May I see them?'

L pulls out the papers. 'They-I wrote after-I wrote a lot, and I don't think it's really poetry. I don't know words like you. But I wrote what happened in a few months a year ago after I met an infuriating boy with beautiful words, and I printed them out and brought them to you. Here.'

'I...I can't.'

'What do you mean you can't?'

'You've done your research, L,' Light says, smiling slightly. 'You know that I can't move-that I'm paralyzed.'

L turns away and presses a fist to his lips but the cry of _no no that can't be happening_ still escapes, a defeated, broken sound.

It's going too fast, the poison is eating him up too fast, he's going to disappear and L will still be feeling numb from the word _Kira_ when his body is long past cool.

He has never known what they are fast enough.

'Can you read them to me?' Light asks, pulling him from the haze. 'Please.'

'Of course-they're...our story, really. Of how I met someone in a little store nobody else goes to,' L says, staring down at the words, trying to remember how he wrote them. It seemed the only logical thing to do in a world tearing apart at the seams-to record what used to be before you broke it.

L understands the poetry and pictures all over Light's blog now. It is nothing more or less than trying to capture a picture of the stars.

Light fixates on the words, like he wants to drown in them. He mouths the shapes, testing the story of little convenience stores and challenges. The beginning, the before, a year ago.

'Our story…' Light repeats. 'You wrote us.'

'I wrote us,' L agrees, and with a throat full of glass, starts reading.

0o0o0o

It seems like barely seconds before his parents knock at the door again, and L takes too long before remembering that he's the one who must let them in.

'I'll...explain,' Light reassures him. 'But it might be best if you…'

'I know.' L barely manages to stop himself from adding that name this time. Light closes his eyes. A smile twists on his face.

'Tell me, Lawliet, do you know what it's like to feel completely and utterly helpless?'

'No.'

'Good.' Light's eyes are unfathomable. 'Let them in, please.'

Light's father eyes him as he steps cautiously inside, and L can't help but feel a sarcastic smile pull at his mouth when he does.

Light, who acted like he knew everything. Light, who acted like L played by his rules. Light who didn't tell his parents enough, who only ever spoke too late too little.

They are monstrous kin indeed.

L slips out behind Sayu, who looks at him almost accusingly, _you are too much of a coward to stay._

And he is, he really is, but the way Light catches his gaze right before the door closes makes him not care.

0o0o0o

'Who is he?' Soichiro Yagami asks quietly. 'I...won't ask who he is to you.'

Light stares at the way the door closes and tries to hold that glance back in his mind.

'A year ago, I told you about someone who talked about the Kira Case,' Light begins. 'His name was-is L.'

'His middle name is Ryuzaki,' Sayu interjects. Light looks over and his sister nods.

'L...Lawliet,' his mother ventures cautiously. She doesn't say it quite right.

' _Law_ liet,' Light corrects softly. 'L-a-w-l-i-e-t.' He pauses, remembers how many times he's repeated that name. 'L Ryuzaki Lawliet.'

'Whatever his name is, I would like to know when-' his father breaks off and shakes his head, eyes conflicted. 'Light, I should not be having this conversation with you while you're…'

'Dying?' Light finishes, mouth quirking.

0o0o0o

His family files out with tense faces, and L closes the botulinum toxin article again without getting past the first word. The nurse from before glances at him when he gets up.

'Visiting hours are over,' she reminds.

'Five minutes,' L asks. She presses her lips together and abruptly walks away, which L decides to take as permission.

Light smiles when he enters.

'Read some more,' he implores. L crouches down again and tries to bring the story-their story-to life in a way that only Light ever could. The old words pain him in the way that healed scars do, as does the living reminder of who they used to be.

He tells about the chase and the meetings and them as rivals. He tells about their hill and their stars and his breath hitches when he tells about their kiss and the one night.

L is almost glad when a doctor comes in and snaps at L to get out, mere lines before that not-a-year-ago night. He does not want to retell his lies.

So he hurries out but not before promising to Light a last few words.

'You have to hold on. Because-' it is too cruel to say because I need you (though L does need him, not like anyone needs a break from running but like a junkie needs his next fix) '-because you need to keep breathing. Because our story isn't over.' He pulls out his battered blue pen and presses it gently against Light's chest, right where his uneven drawstrings would-should-be. 'You need to write the last line. Promise me you will.'

'L…'

'No. No arguments,' L whispers. 'Promise.'

Light closes his eyes and breathes a laugh; it says _that's insanity_ underneath the pity and the pain. L's words have never fooled anybody, but if Light spoke them instead…

(If Light told their story it would be a fairy tale instead of a tragedy)

'If I promise, you have to bring me something.'

'Anything,' L says recklessly.

'I want to see the stars again.'

L nods, throat thick. Light's smile is a bare skeleton of what it used to-should be.

'Then I promise, L Lawliet.'

0o0o0o

Light is asleep when L comes in the next day, and L just sits and stares numbly. It seems impossible that this once used to be the boy who laughed wildly, hair tangled, atop their hill. It seems like a single touch from L would break him now.

His watch feels suddenly heavy. Seventeen hours and above is the breaking point, it has been what, thirty hours since Light found him and who knows how many since the poison started its deadly work. That body could be...

'Light. Wake up,' L whispers. Light doesn't stir, and a sudden cold hand crushes all the breath from him.

'Light,' he insists, maybe a bit hysterical now. 'Light.'

Light's eyes crack open and the breath whooshes back into L's lungs.

'You're alive.'

'I promised,' Light manages after a long silence. It's a croak of a voice. L pushes down the panic and fumbles for the blurry pictures in his pocket.

'I brought you the stars.' He almost offers them before pressing his lips together and showing the photographs, one by one, to the shadow of Light in the sterile bed.

'You forgot…' Light struggles, mouthing silently for a second, terror flashing in his eyes. 'August.'

'I know, I know. Shh,' L soothes frantically. 'I-I can read to you. Just...close your eyes and listen.'

L's voice breaks more than it heals back together when he tells about how he lied. Light is very still next to him. He stops before they reach where they are now, because from his lies onwards the pages are all written in blue ink, barely a sentence ahead of his voice. He carefully replaces the pen back on Light's chest.

'Why did you stop?'

'I needed incentive for you to keep breathing,' L murmurs. His eyes sting. Light's mouth twitches.

'I have other incentives, Lawliet.'

'I'll tell you the ending next time,' L says. They don't talk about what that implies, that there will not be a next time after that. Instead, Light asks if L can prop up the city pictures so he can see them. L does. Then, Light offhandedly mentions that L's eyes are red, and his hair smells almost...metallic, and that he was never like that before. L almost laughs at that and silently promises, and he imagines that Light hears.

When Light's family comes in, L is already at home. The recycling is full.

0o0o0o

As soon as L sees him, he knows. _Tomorrow_ ; the word hangs between them, separating the living from the dead. Tomorrow, Light's heart will be still, and they both know it.

Light gives him a faint smile, and that curve of his mouth shatters him. L collapses to his knees and touches him for the first time in what feels like months, and it is to barely run his fingers over the shadows under Light's eyes and crack all over inside.

(He just lies there like he's already dead)

Sometimes, L read, the poison comes in through injections. Sometimes, it comes in through the air, and it is too cruel to think that his rule, his rule that sounded so stupid barely a year ago and is so important now, was what killed him.

'Stupid,' L repeats bitterly. 'You're so stupid, Light Yagami. With all of your textbook problems, stupid, stupid, stupid.'

(He still loves him)

'Letting all of it happen, yes,' Light says. His voice is a reedy tremor, L must lean close to even catch his breaths now. 'I'm an idiot, and I always have been, so you'll take that into account when I ask, of course?'

(A year and L still loves him)

'Ask what?'

'Come closer,' Light urges, until L is pressed flush against his side. He sighs. 'That's better.'

'What are you going to ask, Light?'

Light smiles softly; he must be mad to love him, love him still. Utterly, utterly mad, just as mad as he is. 'L Lawliet, will you marry me?'

Oh, he still loves him, L decides, and kisses Light, pulls him closer and realizes that they still remember how to kiss one another.

'Tell me,' Light gasps when they break apart, helpless with fury at not being able to move, not being able to touch L everywhere and be touched in return, 'tell me that you still love me.'

'I love you,' L says instantly. 'I love you, Light Yagami.'

(They told him the poison wasn't deadly until it reached his lungs and suffocated him)

(Because all of Kira's victims stop breathing eventually, and so do the ones he never even thinks of)

If the way he stopped breathing was here, with L's arms around him and his chest full to bursting, it was more than enough.

He was just a boy with brown eyes and botulinum running through his veins, just someone who had fallen in love with someone who was everything.

'I love you,' he whispers back, fingers aching to be tangled tight in that raven hair. Their kiss is gentle and soft and long. 'I love you and I will forever, just _wait_ until the next time I will be able to show you…'

Eventually, L slows and Light groans in frustration, wants to tell him to kiss him again, kiss him breathless again.

'Will you?'

'Yes, you-you...undefinable, perfect person,' L nearly shouts. 'Yes, I want to marry you. Right here in this room, laws and everything be damned.'

'Then write me a ring,' Light breathes. L takes the pen and writes on Light's hand in cramped letters around his wasted-away finger _Do not regret_. Light looks at it and smiles. 'Now you. Write _Just keep breathing_.'

L does. The pen tickles against his skin. And that's it, he thinks, sitting back, stunned. There is always going to be a red string between them now. There always has been.

'And now...now read me the end of our story.'

L does.

0o0o0o

When L comes in the next day, their story is over. Light is silent in the bed, his chest moving faintly. He barely manages to open his eyes when L comes in.

This is why Light asked. Because he knew his heart was counting down the beats until his lungs stopped working.

Otherwise, how long would they have chased (would Light ever have asked if he wasn't in the hospital bed)?

L leans his head back and tries to keep the sound in his throat, but it escapes. After all this time, Light still knows how to hurt him best. Innocently, beautifully. That is, indeed, the role of a rival.

Death waits in the room with them. After all the misses, after everything that happened, after yesterday. Light has taken his last chance and spent it on everything and nothing.

The understanding is identical and weaves itself into the bitter laugh Light coughs out when the doctors nearby retreat to watch.

'Do you remember...when I asked if...if you knew what it was to feel completely and utterly helpless, Lawliet?'

L wordlessly nods.

'Good.' Light seems exhausted. 'I didn't think I'd ever...reach the last page. Can you...read to me? Again? The part where you realized.' He breathes out slowly, struggles for every gasp. 'I...want to remember...exactly.'

L unfolds the papers and tries to smooth out the crumpled edges with shaking hands before reading the part where he realized he was in love again in a halting voice. Light closes his eyes and listens like he's falling into the words.

L tells about how a boy he met in a little store showed up at his work and pulled him into a dirty alley to tell him he was dying, and how he wrote that boy a story because he couldn't say the words himself, and how much he missed him already.

He tells about how that boy asked something he could never refuse. He tells about how that boy whispered 'I love you'. He tells about how he loved that boy. L tells about the rain, most of all.

The whole time, L can only think of Light's shuddering breaths next to him, praying that the next one arrives. Always, always.

'You're crying,' Light murmurs. L raises a hand to his face and it comes away wet.

'I don't want to lose you,' he admits softly. Light's mouth quirks, maybe a smile.

'Listen to me, Lawliet. I have come to-to accept things in this mad world, and one of them is that none of us will ever not regret or keep breathing forever. Another is that promises are worthwhile. And the third is that I can't and I never will promise that I'll be breathing tomorrow. All I can promise is that I'll love you and that I'm breathing now.'

L thinks he's choking, Light is choking, oh God, he can't breathe, was it his words that killed him? L can't see him anymore in the mess of shouting doctors, the poison has caught up with them as they run away.

0o0o0o

His family is here, the doctors are waiting. L is allowed to touch him again, and he takes his hand, the one with ink, and pleads with Light to open his eyes.

'Breathe with me.'

Light's chest stutters, quick, as fast as a sparrow's. In-out.

'Breathe with me,' L begs again, tries to match Light's pace. Again, a flutter.

He cannot give up these pointless, useless words as much as Light couldn't give up his textbook problems. Whether Light's breathing ceases or not cares nothing for whether or not L asked him to. And that is what it is to feel completely and utterly helpless.

'Breathe with me.'

L counts, one, two, three, up to forty. He will breathe for Light if his-if he cannot, stand on their hill in the rain and stare up at the real stars when the cloudburst passes, look for Light in the oceans of the sky and know that he'll have learned how to not drown when L finds him.

'Breathe with me.'

0o0o0o

When Light wakes up, his eyes are dull and he is so terribly quiet. He makes no move to speak.

The poison is in his lungs.

L feels his own chest ache as if from a million million miles away, staring at textbook problems from space. Light's shell breathes softly, quietly.

His hands on Light's chest are automatic, there are no drawstrings to straighten. The pen is cold. He never was going to write their last line because he does not know how it ends.

And then Light gasps, and focuses on him with eyes that reflected the human-made stars once. His breathing is a death rattle.

'Law...liet.'

(His breathing; it's all white noise now.)

'One...last time,' Light whispers. 'Tell me.' L knows he does not mean _I love you_ and he does not mean their story, he means that and L does not know if he is strong enough to do so.

'I thought I wasn't allowed,' he murmurs back, voice cracking against Light's forehead.

'I...I think we can...break a few of our rules now, can't we, L Lawliet?' Light manages a smile. His voice is so, so weak. L closes his eyes and tries to keep the memories in his throat down, down, so he can speak, so he can do this. For Light, if nothing else (Though they choke him).

'I'm sorry,' L whispers, ' _angel_.'

And now Light is quiet, too quiet, but L will not allow the word that will make him past quiet. And the doctors are shouting at him to leave, because he is not allowed to see how an angel dies.

L decides that quiet things are horrible.

0o0o0o

L stares at the city and decides to think that Light died the moment the August cloudburst starts, that the gods themselves are mourning him.

0o0o0o

When L walks outside of the little store, he breathes deeply, then again, then again.

The world smells different after it rains, after all, just a bit more light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s utter  
> :: Silence


End file.
